


Have You Read This?

by vivelalark



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelalark/pseuds/vivelalark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Jefferson hooted so loudly that heads turned in the dining hall, and James lowered his head in embarrassment, trying to concentrate on his bowl of Cheerios. But there was no stopping Thomas when it came to spreading slander about Alexander Hamilton, and James nearly knocked over his bowl of cereal in fright as his best friend slammed a copy of the Daily Spectator down on the table in front of him.</p><p>“Have you read this?”</p><p> </p><p>Or, a modern take on the Reynolds Pamphlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rise of #FuckHam

**Author's Note:**

> So, they're all studying at Columbia University. Hamilton and Burr are studying law, Jefferson is that kid who double majors in political science and biology AND is also enrolled in the music school, Madison is studying political science. Mulligan I have no idea and Lafayette is a French exchange student who's just happy to be there. Angelica is into women's studies and like... literature (cue Philip Schuyler screaming in the background). Eliza is all about them social sciences. And Laurens is studying abroad in London. He and Hamilton used to be a thing back in high school, we'll see where that goes...
> 
> Aaron Burr is sleeping with Theodosia Prevost while her husband goes on lengthy business trips and they're beautiful together
> 
> Also if you don't know what Yik Yak is, it's a social media app that allows people to post anonymous comments in 140 characters. It's very popular on college campuses which is why I use it here. 
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY THANKS

Before Eliza could utter even a syllable of protest, Angelica had pried her smartphone from her hands and punched in the passcode. A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R. Normally the corners of Angelica’s lips twitched in amusement at Eliza’s phone password. But today Angelica’s lips remained in a tight line, her countenance stoic as she pulled open the last text sent from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, a paragraph long text that mostly consisted of phrases from the likes of “I love you” to “I’m so sorry” to “I hate myself for this” that Angelica swiftly deleted with shaking fingers.

 

“Angelica, please don’t say anything to him,” her sister pleaded from her bed, and her voice was so small, so hollow that Angelica could hardly recognize it as her Eliza.

  
Angelica stared down at the message she had typed out to her sister’s boyfriend, her thumb hovering over the Send button.

 

_Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU._

 

“ _Please_ Angelica.”

 

Angelica let out a deep sigh and closed the phone, leaving it turned face down on her sister’s desk before she joined her sister in bed. The slaughter could wait, she decided. Right now, her Eliza needed her. Neither sister spoke as they faced each other, as Angelica wrapped her arms around Eliza, enfolding her in a tight, almost suffocating, hug while Eliza buried her face in her sister’s chest and allowed herself to be racked with the anguished sobs she had suppressed for the last hour. Eventually, Eliza spoke, but her voice was muffled, her face still pressed against Angelica's collarbone.

 

“What was that babe?”

 

Eliza lifted her head, her face flushed pink and streaks of makeup running down her cheeks. “I said—I said I thought it was just a joke at first. I saw it on Yik Yak.” And here she attempts to smile, but her lips are quivering so much it is nothing more than a grimace. “There was one that said… It said…”

 

Angelica gently cut her sister off. “I know which one you’re talking about.” She was sure that, by this time, the entire school knew which Yak Eliza was talking about.

 

The app had blown up since the monthly issue of the Columbia Daily Spectator was released that morning, with one Yak (with over 200 up-votes) succinctly summarizing the turmoil that ensued in two words:

 

_Poor Eliza._

 

Angelica choked on her granola that morning reading this Yak. Comments were popping up underneath by the second, and Angelica refreshed the page frantically, seeking some sort of answer or explanation, although she wasn’t sure whether she wanted one or not.

 

 _Eliza Schuyler?_ Was the first comment.

 

 _What happened?_ Several of the comments afterwards read.

 

 _Check the Columbia Spectator._ Someone finally said, and Angelica should have stopped there, but just as she was about to go online and check the school paper one more comment popped up. _Alexander Hamilton cheated on his girlfriend with Maria Reynolds._

 

Angelica had always prided herself on her ability remain calm and resilient in the face of trouble, but no one could blame her for gaping at the Columbia Daily Spectator’s headline, which read in bold:

 

I MAY HAVE SLEPT WITH MARIA REYNOLDS, BUT I DID NOT MISUSE TREASURY FUNDS.

 

And underneath, in smaller print: BY ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

 

She was out of the door within seconds, still tugging her boots on as she ran towards the school’s residential apartments. Now here she was, practically cradling her grieving younger sister in her arms, like a newborn, and musing over how many different ways she could murder Alexander Hamilton.

 

“I thought it was just a joke,” Eliza repeated. “How could he? Angelica, _how could he?_ ”

 

“I don’t know,” Angelica said, stroking her sister’s hair. And though she was ashamed of what a weak response it was, it was the truth. How could he deceive Eliza like this? Eliza, who was inarguably one of the kindest people in New York City, if not America, if not the world, always willing to help others before giving herself a moment’s thought. Eliza, who gave every person she met her trust. Eliza, whose warm smile melted the hearts of those around her. Eliza, who adored Alexander Hamilton so much that even now she forbade Angelica from tearing him apart, word by word. But now, to the rest of Columbia, Eliza’s legacy seemed sealed by one anonymous social media post. Poor Eliza. Indeed.

 

The more Angelica thought about it, the angrier she became. “He’s an ass,” she blurted out suddenly, and Eliza’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “And not worth your time. Alexander Hamilton doesn’t deserve anyone as good as you, Eliza.”

 

“Are you saying I should—?” Eliza couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence.

 

Angelica nodded solemnly. “End it.”

 

Eliza turned her head and looked at the pictures she had taped to the wall behind her bed. Over half of the photographs featured Alexander, she noticed, a fact that made her cringe. There was the shot Eliza had snapped at the National Debate Conference, his fist pumping the air in triumph. There was the one Angelica took of the two of them at the Schuyler’s annual charity gala, his arm wrapped around Eliza’s waist, grinning at the camera. And then there was her favorite, a candid shot snapped by one of his friends at a social for his law fraternity, the two of them nearly touching noses, Alexander in mid-speech about something that Eliza did not remember now, his hands clasping hers.

 

She peeled this last photograph off the wall, turning it over in her hands while Angelica watched silently. Then, she tore it in half, then quarters, then eighths, and continued until there was nothing remaining in her hands.

 

Angelica gingerly picked up the shredded bits of paper and tossed them into the wastebasket. Then she wrapped her arms around her sister once more.

 

\---

 

Thomas Jefferson hooted so loudly that heads turned in the dining hall, and James lowered his head in embarrassment, trying to concentrate on his bowl of Cheerios. But there was no stopping Thomas when it came to spreading slander about Alexander Hamilton, and James nearly knocked over his bowl of cereal in fright as his best friend slammed a copy of the Daily Spectator down on the table in front of him.

 

“Have you _read_ this?”

 

James shook his head, his mouth full of Cheerios. “Let me see,” he said after washing down his cereal with a swig of grapefruit juice, and took the paper from Thomas, who couldn’t keep himself from smirking.

 

“The guy’s a fucking idiot,” Thomas remarked as James began to read, his eyebrows already furrowed in distress. “He literally just shit on his entire reputation _by himself_. I didn’t even have to do it for him.” He laughed aloud at his own joke, but frowned when James pushed the paper away from him. “You’re done already?”

 

James nodded, but the truth was he had read about as much as he could stomach. Especially when Alexander began describing in _unnecessarily specific detail_ how far he had gone with Maria Reynolds. Not to mention, he thought, that perhaps none of this would have happened if he, Thomas, and Aaron hadn’t brought up James Reynolds’ accusations at their last student government meeting, a detail that made his stomach curl. _Was he responsible for this?_

 

“James.”

 

_I still have the printouts of the Reynolds emails on my desk—_

“James!” Thomas waved his hand in front of his friend’s face. “You alright?”

 

“Sorry, yeah.” James smiled feebly. “I was just thinking about how his girlfriend must feel.” He sat near Eliza Schuyler last year in a civics course, the two of them friendly with each other despite the animosity between their… alliances. He remembered her dropping off notes at his dorm one day when he was too sick to come to class. “I feel bad for her. She’s really nice.”

 

Thomas almost looked guilty for a split second. But he brushed it off, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I need to write a really good tweet about this.”

 

\---

 

 **@urfavevirginiantweeted:** #FuckHam

 

\---

 

He grabs Theodosia by the waist and pulls her back down into a tight embrace, sighing happily into the nape of her neck. “You’re up early,” he murmurs.

 

“Well your phone was buzzing nonstop, so I got up to shut it off.” Theo laughs, and flips onto her side so she can face Aaron. “Can I ask who ‘Virginia Fuck’ is?”

 

“My mistress,” Aaron teases, and Theo wrinkles her nose in pretend disgust and swats at him playfully. “Nah. It’s Thomas Jefferson.”

 

“I see. He’s the one with the hair, right? He texted you about thirty times.”

 

Aaron reaches over Theo to swipe his phone off the nightstand. Sure enough, he has thirty new iMessage notifications from Virginia Fucker. Theo watches Aaron’s face grow progressively graver as he scrolls through the flood of texts, and suddenly he rolls out of bed and leaves the room.

 

“Aaron!” She calls after him, and he returns with his laptop under one arm, seating himself at the foot of her bed. She scoots forwards so that she’s right behind him, and rests her head on his shoulder, squinting at the brightness of the computer screen. “Aaron, what is it?”

 

He’s not sure if he’s satisfied or disappointed when he pulls up the feature article of the Columbia Daily Spectator, reading the headline for himself. Behind him, he can hear Theo gasp sharply, no doubt reading it along with him.

 

“That’s my old roommate I told you about,” he tells her. “The loud one.”

 

Theo’s hand is over her mouth as she reads the rest of the article in silence. Then she reaches for Aaron’s hand and squeezes his fingers, causing him to turn around to face her. Her face looks ashen, even in the morning sunlight, and Aaron is about to ask what’s wrong when she says, “But we’re not like that, are we?”

 

Aaron immediately knows what she means, and he shakes his head vehemently, squeezing her hand back. “No we’re not. We’re different, Theo. I love you.” He freezes, the words slipping out of his mouth before he even realizes what he’s saying. She’s still technically by law a married woman. Oh, to hell with it. He’s telling the truth. “I’m in love with you,” he reassures her.

 

“Me too,” she responds, and then his mouth is against hers.

 

Fifteen minutes later, as Theo lies on her back and pants breathlessly, she asks, “Why did he do it? Your roommate, I mean.”

 

“I wish I could tell you. I guess—” Aaron thinks for a moment. “I guess he’s the type of person who wants it all,” he says after a moment’s pause. “And thinks he can get away with it.”

 

Theo doesn’t respond, and from the look in her eyes it seems her mind is elsewhere.

 

When he leaves the Prevost home later that morning, he glances back one more time and catches her staring pensively at the framed photograph of her and Marcus hanging in the parlor. _We’re not like that!_ He almost wants to call out to her, to remind her.

 

He knows his Theo is smart enough to remind herself.

 

\---

 

“LAF!” Mulligan yells into his roommate’s face, who fires out a string of expletives in French before yanking his headphones out of his ears.

 

“ _Quoi?_ I’m in the middle of face-timing my girlfriend,” Lafayette snaps, but the look on Mulligan’s face stops him in his tracks. “ _Un moment, ma chérie. Ouais, ouais, je sais. Moi je t’aime aussi. A tout a l’heure._ ” He blew a kiss to his phone screen before turning his attention back to his roommate. “What is it?”

 

“Oh, it’s bad dude. Real bad.”

 

“What is bad?” Lafayette was growing impatient. “Tell me like a man, Mulligan.”

 

“Alex banged Maria Reynolds.”

 

Lafayette laughed in Mulligan’s face. “Next you’ll tell me you make love with horses.”

 

“No, really. See for yourself.”

 

Lafayette caught the newspaper that was thrown at him, and raised his eyebrows. He looked up at Mulligan, finally seeming concerned. “Does Eliza know?”

 

“It’s on every social media site, so yeah, I should think she knows.”

 

Lafayette’s heart sank. “And John?”

 

Mulligan flinched. “Y’know. He’s in London.”

 

“So… no, then.”

 

Mulligans gave Lafayette a knowing glare. “We can’t tell him.”

 

“Doesn’t he deserve to know?” Lafayette argued. “I’m tired of all this secrecy—” He was cut off by the ringing of his phone. JOHN LAURENS, his screen read, and he and Mulligan exchanged fearful looks. “ _Merde, merde, merde_ ,” he muttered under his breath, but he picked up anyway. “Hello?”

 

“Is it true?”

 

“I—uh—is what true?”

 

“Don’t bullshit me, Laf. Over twenty people have shared the article on Facebook.”

 

Lafayette sighed in defeat. “John, I’m sorry—”

 

“It’s fine,” the voice on the other line answers curtly. “Thanks for being honest,” the voice adds in a softer tone, and Lafayette hears the phone click.

 

\---

 

A part of Eliza had hoped that this was nothing but a bad dream, and when she woke up from her stress-induced nap she would be relieved to realize that none of this had happened. But after she had been roused from her nap by a loud banging at the door, her heart thudding and her eyes still half-closed, she found herself in the nightmare once again.

 

“Eliza!” Alexander’s voice cried from behind the door. “Are you there?”

 

She wanted to call back, she wanted to open her door and watch him prostrate at her feet, begging for her forgiveness and declaring his undying love for her. But she knew that’s what he knew she wanted. So she bit her lip and remained in bed, only allowing herself to stare at the door.

 

“I know you’re in there,” he said, and it sounded like there was something caught in his throat as he spoke. She wondered if he, like her, had cried today. “You always write a note on your whiteboard when you’re not in your room.” Oh, he was always so smart.

 

She could have answered then, but again she resisted the urge. Her hands gripped her bed sheets tightly, and she sank deeper into her pillows.

 

“I—I’m guessing now’s not a good time.” His voice shook. “I’ll come back later.”

 

And then. “I just want a chance to explain myself—”

 

Eliza was out of her bed and at the door in a matter of seconds. Her heart ached as his face lit up as she flung the door open. “Go away.”

 

“Eliza—” He looked like he hadn’t slept for days, and knowing him, that was probably quite literally the case. “Eliza, I—”

 

“I can hardly look at you right now, let alone hold a conversation,” Eliza said coldly, and it was the first time she had ever seen him at a loss for words.

 

“Right,” he said finally, looking at his feet. “I’ll… I’ll see you later?”

 

“Goodbye, Alexander.” She slammed the door in his face and crawled back into bed, pulling her duvet cover all the way over her head, fighting back the tears that had begun to well in her eyes once more.

 

But as she fell into a restless slumber, one thing remained constant in her mind.

 

She was not going to be remembered by Columbia University as _Poor Eliza._


	2. A Cause for Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Alexander taking a huge hit from his social suicide, Thomas Jefferson is in good spirits and hosts a get-together at his off-campus abode, which he calls Monticello. The whole school is invited, thanks to Dolley Payne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In contrast to the first chapter this chapter is a lot sillier but a lot of shit goes down nonetheless
> 
> I've introduced two more new characters: Dolley Payne (future wife of James Madison) and James Monroe. Dolley Payne is a social butterfly and you will fall in love with her like everyone else has, even though she's kind of out of it for most of this chapter also she's my favorite historical figure so amen  
> James Monroe is a douche lmao he's that preppy white kid who texts you at 2 am asking if you want to watch Netflix with him 
> 
> Alexander and John are missing for much of this chapter, so you'll find out what's going on with them in the next chapter

 

 _PARTY TONIGHT @ THE MONTICELLO, THERE WILL BE AN ICE LUGE!_ (147 up-votes)

 

1 new comment: _Says who?_

OP replied: _DOLLEY PAYNE XX_ (52 up-votes)

 

Thomas’ phone was blowing up with notifications. Hundreds of his peers had been retweeting his now legendary #FuckHam tweet, and now Dolley’s Yak had people calling Thomas every few minutes, wanting to confirm that yes, there was going to be a rager at The Monticello—the affectionate nickname given to the off-campus house he shared with Aaron, James Madison, and James Monroe—tonight. He didn’t see the point, though. If there was anyone who was sure of a party happening, it had to be Dolley Payne, the striking undergrad sorority girl who befriended Thomas and his friends early on in the school year.

 

“What kind of beer do you want for tonight?” Monroe poked his head into Thomas’ bedroom. Monroe was the only undergrad living in The Monticello, constantly eager for the older trio’s approval and acceptance. Like Aaron, he was on the law route.

 

“Something foreign, please. Maybe Belgian.”

 

“Stella Artois?”

 

“Yes, but we’ll only need one or two cases of it. Everyone else can drink that Busch Lite shit you like.”

 

Monroe grinned, albeit seeming a little put down. “Busch Lite is a college party staple, man,” he said. “Hey,” he added, suddenly looking a little embarrassed, “Did you invite Lizzy Kortright?”

Thomas chuckled, recalling the dainty freshman girl who Monroe frequently invited over to watch Netflix. “Well thanks to Dolley, it appears the entire school has been invited. Don’t worry James. I’m sure she’ll be here.”  

 

“Monroe!” Aaron’s voice called impatiently from downstairs. “Let’s go.”

 

“Coming!” Monroe called down. “Stella Artois, right?”

 

“Please.”

 

Monroe nodded and met Aaron downstairs. As the pair walked down the steps of The Monticello, Aaron’s car keys jingling in his hands, Monroe asked, “So, where were you last night?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Monroe shrank back like a child at the irritation in Aaron’s voice. “I came into your room at around ten last night so I could you ask you a question about my homework,” he explained. “You weren’t there.”

 

“I had a late night,” was all Aaron said. Not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth. “Text Thomas and tell him we’re buying good shit, not that nail polish remover you have in your room,” he told Monroe, referring to the cheap Burnett’s vodka Monroe liked. “I need to get fucked up tonight.”

 

\---

 

Peggy was lying upside down on her older sister’s bed, scrolling through Instagram mindlessly while Eliza knelt on the floor, folding her fresh laundry with an almost robotic perseverance. Peggy was astonished at how serene Eliza seemed that morning, her face glowing and her hair damp from a morning shower, makeup done perfectly. This wasn’t what a girl who just had her heart broken looked like; Peggy had expected to find her sister in her underwear, eating straight from a tub of chocolate ice cream, things she saw in every rom-com she’s ever watched. But she knew not to underestimate her sister’s strength. The room was scrubbed clean, the carpet vacuumed, the bed made. More than half of the photos that used to hang over Eliza’s bed were gone, and Peggy assumed them to be photos of Alexander. She wanted to ask where those photos had gone, but knew better than to bring it up.

 

That’s when her phone dinged, her screen lighting up with one new notification.

 

 **James Monroe:** You coming tonight?

 

“James Monroe wants me to go to his party at The Monticello tonight,” she said out loud, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Do you know him, Eliza?”

 

“I’ve heard of him,” Eliza responded, still engrossed in folding her laundry. “Alex—I mean—Alexander,” She tried her hardest to sound as normal as possible as she said his name, “Was never too fond of any of Thomas’ friends, though.”

 

A light bulb went off. Peggy slunk off the bed and sat at her sister’s side, but before she could even open her mouth Eliza went, “ _No._ I know what you’re thinking.”

 

“Oh, _please_ , Eliza!” Peggy implored, tugging on the sleeve of Eliza’s shirt. “We’ll have such a good time, and you’ll forget all about—about you know who.”

 

Eliza shook her head. “It sounds like a bad idea.”

 

“Not at all! Everyone’s going to be there—except _him_ , of course, cause he hates Thomas—and they’ll see you having a good time and they’ll all think, _Wow, Eliza Schuyler looks great! She doesn’t need Ale—_ sorry, you know who I mean. Oh, come on Eliza. Please?”

 

Eliza stopped folding her laundry. Peggy recognized the expression on her face to be Eliza’s _I’ve already made my decision but I’m going to keep pretending to think about it just to be nice_ move.

 

“Pleeease?”

 

Oh, what the heck, she could never say no to either of her sisters. “Alright. It does seem kind of fun,” Eliza admitted, “But I don’t want to stay for too long, okay?”

 

\---

 

“Dude,” Mulligan whispered to his roommate. The two of them were still in their beds, looking at their phones even though it was 1 in the afternoon. “Hey, Laf!”

 

“What?”

 

“Did you hear about the thing? Tonight?”

 

Of course he had, Lafayette didn’t live under a rock after all. “Oui, mon frère. Thomas invited me, actually.”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot that he’s in love with your French ass.” Mulligan made kissy noises and roared with laughter as Lafayette flung a pillow across the room, aimed for his head. “So what do you say? You wanna check it out?”

 

Just then, there was a knock at their door, and the two exchanged dubious looks as they heard Alexander’s voice ask, “Can I talk to you guys?”

 

He looked terrible. Lafayette insisted he take a nap on one of their beds, but Alexander dismissed his French friend’s concern with a wave of his hand. “A nap’s not gonna make _this_ any better,” he said and gestured at his face, making an attempt to smile but looking more pained than he had before. He buried his face in his hands and sighed wearily. “Fuck, you guys. I fucked up.”

 

Neither friend wanted to agree with Alexander, nor could they tell him otherwise, so they sat in uncomfortable silence until Alexander spoke again.

 

“I mean, I talked to Eliza yesterday. But she said she didn’t want to talk to me. And John isn’t responding to my texts or answering my calls. I think he knows,” Mulligan was looking at Lafayette like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. Lafayette made a slicing motion across his neck that meant _Don’t say anything about John or I will fucking end you._ “I haven’t heard anything from Angelica, which scares me even more, because she’s probably making an elaborate plan to hang me by the balls. Also, #FuckHam is apparently trending on Twitter. It looks like I’ve brought the entire student body into solidarity in hating my guts. And Thomas Jefferson is allegedly throwing a party tonight in honor of my downfall.”

 

“Shit, that’s what it’s for?” Mulligan asked incredulously, while Lafayette smacked a palm to his forehead, cringing.

 

Alexander gaped at his friends. “You guys are going?”

 

“I was invited,” Lafayette hastened to reply before Mulligan could screw up again. “We were considering it, but if its purpose is to ridicule you, then of course we would never—”

 

“No, no. You guys should go,” Alexander said, and he tried to put on a brave smile. “Tell me how it goes. Let me know who you see there.” _And what they’re saying about me,_ he had wanted to add, but his pride halted him.

 

Lafayette looked at Alexander quizzically. “Well, alright. I’ll let Thomas know we’re coming,” he said to Mulligan, whipping out his phone. “And Alexander,” Lafayette added, as his friend slung his backpack over his shoulders and headed for the door, presumably going to the library.

 

Alexander turned around.

 

Lafayette struggled to find the right words. He wasn’t sure how to say something like this even in French, let alone English. But they were his friends, and friends had to be honest with each other. “You are very smart,” he said finally, “But this… this was not one of your smarter moments.” Mulligan nodded solemnly in agreement. “But I hope everything works out.”

 

“I know. Thanks.”

\---

 

“If another Fetty Wap song comes on again, I’m going to finish this whole bottle of Grey Goose by myself,” Aaron proclaimed to Thomas, as they leaned against the wall of their living room, which was packed with sweating, intoxicated young adults grinding against one another and belting out the chorus of whatever god-awful pop song was blaring over the speakers. A third of the vodka was already gone, courtesy of some giggly freshmen girls who flirted with Aaron until he acquiesced and handed the bottle over to them.

 

He had texted Theo earlier today, asking if she wanted to come tonight. _Aaron, I’m 27 years old_ , was her excuse, and he had been slightly moody for the rest of the day since their correspondence, though to be fair, she definitely had a point.

 

Thomas sipped from his bottle of Stella Artois. “Lighten up, Burr. It looks like Dolley’s publicity worked.” With his free hand, he fished a small plastic bag from his back pocket and dangled it in front of Aaron’s face. “Wanna smoke some of this with me?”

 

Aaron swatted Thomas’ hand out of his face. “Maybe later. I’m not even drunk yet.”

 

“Well, let me know. I’m gonna go look for some people.” Thomas sauntered off.

 

A couple to Aaron’s right were sloppily making out in the corner of the room, things clearly heating up between the two. Aaron recognized the couple as James Monroe and Lizzy Kortright, and he called out to his housemate, who had a goofy grin plastered across his face as he pulled away from Lizzy. “Aaron!” He shouted, “You looking for Dolley?”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“In the kitchen!” Aaron turned on his heels and exited the living room, before he could see Monroe and Kortright resume eating each other’s faces off.

 

He strolled into the kitchen, but saw no sight of Dolley, who was usually easy to spot at a party because she was usually the most enthusiastic person there, and/or talking very loudly. But another familiar voice called his name, and Aaron took a step backwards when he recognized the girl walking up to him to be Eliza Schuyler. She didn’t seem as drunk as everyone else, but still she grabbed the arm he offered to her. “Hi,” she greeted him, with a soft smile. She seemed tired.

 

“Eliza Schuyler,” Aaron remarked, still somewhat in shock. “I didn’t think I would see you here.”

 

“I didn’t think I’d be here,” she laughed, but her voice was strained. Her happiness was forced, Aaron realized. Well, no shit, he thought to himself. Who could be happy after what she had just gone through? “Long story short,” she was saying as Aaron tuned back in, “I came here with Peggy and some of her friends.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you could make it.” Aaron replied politely. He knew her boyfriend like the back of his hand, having lived with him his first year at Columbia and having been his classmate and peer for the last five years, but he didn’t know Eliza that well. “Uh, how are you?” Oh God, Aaron. You don’t ask a girl who’s just found out her boyfriend’s cheated on her _how she’s fucking doing_. How did he ever manage to win Theo over? “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

 

Eliza gracefully waved off Aaron’s apology. “You’re fine. And I’m all right. Thank you for asking.”

 

“Have you had anything to drink yet?”

 

She held up a can of Busch Lite. “Just one of these.”

 

“Just one?” A girl poked her head in between Aaron and Eliza, her dark eyes glinting, and Aaron recognized Dolley with her tight cropped shirt and exotic-looking navel piercing, a look that would normally be looked down upon at an Ivy League institution but that Dolley seemed to pull off effortlessly. “Honey!” The girl exclaimed, addressing Eliza. “You haven’t lived. Let me make you a drink, hold on.”

 

She returns with a red solo cup full of a bright orange liquid. “Drink all of this,” she tells Eliza with a wink. “That’ll really get the party started for you.”

 

As Eliza took a tentative sip, Aaron pulled his younger female friend aside. “Dolley, what did you put in there?” He asked.

 

“Rum and Sunkist?” Oh Jesus Christ.

 

“Dolley.” He sounded like a father exasperated with his delinquent teenage daughter. “How _much_ rum?”

 

Dolley pursed her lips. “Half?”

 

“Half a shot?”

 

“Half of the cup?”

 

Aaron turns around. “Eliza, put that cup down right now—Oh, my God. Did you finish entire thing?” He asks, staring at the empty cup in her hands with a horrified look on his face.

 

“Is that not what you’re supposed to do?” Eliza sounded—and looked—genuinely confused as Dolley threw her head back and started laughing. “It was just juice, right? It tasted like juice.”

 

“It was Bacardi 151 and Sunkist, just b-t-w,” Dolley whispered into Aaron’s ear as if it were a casual side note, and he mouths the words _Oh fuck_. That poison was 75.5% alcohol. “Come on Eliza,” she continued cheerfully, “Let’s dance!” She put the other girl’s arm over her shoulder and led—almost dragged—Eliza into the living room.

 

“Was that Eliza Schuyler?” Someone asks Aaron. He nods, still staring at where she’d just been standing. “You gave Eliza Schuyler Bacardi 151?”

 

Technically, Dolley had, but it was Aaron’s house, Aaron’s liquor. He was the responsible adult. He nodded.

 

“Good luck,” the person said, clapping Aaron on the back. “Don’t let Angelica find out.”

 

Aaron closed his eyes and sighed deeply, and took another swig from the bottle in his hands.

 

 **Thomas Jefferson** posted: I Will Always Give You the Truth I Will Never Lie To You in My Music If You Cant Handle My Feelings And Emotions Please Unfriend Me

 

 **Angelica Schuyler** commented: Are you high? You're high, aren't you?

 

 **Aaron Burr** commented: Shut the fuck up Thomas 

\---

 

Mulligan and Lafayette were literally on the dance floor, engaged in a pushup contest while a circle of girls cheered them on. It seemed that they had enjoyed themselves perhaps too much at the ice luge. At last Lafayette gave in, his knees touching the floor while Mulligan roared victoriously and the girls showered him with copious cheek kisses.

 

It was Peggy who saw them, and she shouted their names, crouching on the floor so she was level with them.

 

“Mademoiselle Peggy,” Lafayette planted a wet kiss on one of her hands, “What is a lovely girl like you doing in this place of debauchery and sin?”

 

“I just saw John Adams and Abigail Smith share a joint with Thomas Jefferson,” Peggy said excitedly. “And Charles Lee is snorting Ritalin in the bathroom, so.”

 

“Is your sister with you?” Lafayette asked, thinking of Angelica, who he knew to be amiable with the Monticello housemates.

 

“Just Eliza.”

 

“ _Eliza?_ ” Lafayette raised his eyebrows. “But I—I don’t understand.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. She definitely doesn’t belong in this place of debauchery or whatever you said—”

 

“No, _ma chérie_ , I do not mean that. Why would she want to be at the same party that Maria Reynolds is going to?”

 

Peggy’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. “Is—she—here?” She asked in a low voice, her eyes suddenly glancing here and there around the room. Eliza was going to kill her.

 

“I definitely saw her here,” Mulligan interjected, and with some difficult Peggy got to her feet. Eliza wouldn’t kill her, she decided. If word spread that Peggy Schuyler brought her freshly heartbroken sister to what was basically a fraternity party on steroids, Angelica and her parents were the ones who were going to kill her.

 

\---

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Why is my little sister texting me saying that you throw the best parties ever and she loves you

 

 **Tommy J:** Cause I Dooooooooooooooo And Everyone Loves Me

 

 **Tommy J:** Also Which sister Lol

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Eliza.

 

 **Tommy J:** WWWHHHHAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

 

 **Tommy J:** FOR REAL

 

 **Tommy J:** SHE CAME!???!?!!!???

 

 **Tommy J:** WOW This Reynolds Shit Gets Better By The Min

 

 **Tommy J:** I Need To Find Her And Thank Her

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** You better hope to God that I don’t see you there when I come to get my sisters…

 

 **Tommy J:** Ouch Baby

 

\---

 

Eliza had never been drunk before, not like this. She and her sisters frequently had wine nights during the week, and the wine made her feel warm and fuzzy and she laughed louder than usual, but it was a soft, warm feeling that enveloped her. Tonight, she felt like her body was being controlled by a violent but lethargic force, and her vision was so blurred she could hardly make out what was happening around her.

 

“Dolley,” she shouted at the girl shaking her hips in front of her, “I feel funny.”

 

“Everyone feels funny their first time,” Dolley reassured her dismissively, busy taking selfies with the people around her. “You can always go outside and get fresh air, hon.”

 

Eliza stumbled for the door that led to the backyard, grabbing onto people for stability as she made her way through the living room.

 

“Eliza!” Mulligan exclaimed, and Eliza realized she was clutching his arm. “There you are. We just saw your sister a few minutes ago.”

 

Peggy! Peggy could wait, Eliza thought as a wave of nausea overcame her. She hoped Peggy was doing better than her. “Air,” she said, pointing at the door, “I need air.”

 

“Say no more,” Mulligan assured her, and he picked her up as if she were a doll. “Coming through!” His voice boomed, and the sea of people before him parted.

 

The chilly night air made her shiver, but Eliza no longer felt like she was suffocating as she gasped in the fresh air. There were only a few people outside, sitting in a circle and coughing loudly. She realized they were smoking weed.

 

And then, one of those people got to their feet and sauntered over to Mulligan and Eliza, and she recognized him even before he emerged from the shadows, from his untamed, frizzy mane of hair and cocky strutting silhouette. Mulligan seems to recognize him too, as Eliza hears him mutter an expletive under his breath.

 

“Eliza Schuyler!” Thomas Jefferson exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. “The pleasure is all mine,” he says as he kisses her hand, and she tries not to shudder at the touch of her boyfriend’s biggest enemy. For a moment the thought of Alexander grips her with grief once more, but she quickly shakes it off and flashes a polite smile at Thomas. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. You _deserve_ it,” he adds, and the implication is all too clear.

 

The door behind them creaks open, and Eliza can hear footsteps approaching them.

 

“You Schuyler sisters are never too far from one another,” Thomas remarks as Peggy runs forwards and hugs Eliza.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I think I’m drunk,” Eliza blurted out. Peggy and Mulligan exchanged concerned glances, but Thomas smiled saccharinely.

 

“You guys should meet some of my friends,” Thomas says, his thumb pointed at the circle of people still sitting in the grass. Mulligan doesn’t like how hospitable Thomas is being, and he trudges behind Peggy and Eliza warily.

 

Thomas’ friends are all guys, with the exception of one girl sitting in another person’s lap, a joint in between her fingers. She lifted a lighter, and as the light of the flame bounces off her face Eliza’s jaw dropped and she stumbled backwards. Startled, the girl glanced up and their eyes meet, and the girl’s lighter drops to the ground.

 

“Oh, shit.” Says Maria Reynolds.

 

“Excuse me,” Eliza manages to gasp out, “I’m—Peggy—I think I’m gonna—”

 

Peggy and Mulligan rush Eliza to the bathroom indoors, where she only makes it as far as the sink before she throws up.

 

\---

 

He calls Theo a sixth time, but it goes straight to voicemail once more. He shoves the empty bottle of Grey Goose into the recycling bin before heading upstairs. He has a massive headache.

 

James poked his head out of his bedroom. “Aaron?”

 

“Hey, if it isn’t Little Jemmy.” James reddened, embarrassed by the childish nickname. “Were you in your room this entire time?”

 

James shrugged. “I finished my paper,” he says nonchalantly, making Aaron smile.

 

“You should go downstairs and celebrate with a drink.”

 

“Who the _FUCK_ ordered pizza to my house?” Monroe yelled from downstairs, and James flinches.

 

“Is Dolley here?” James asks Aaron, sounding like it had taken him a few minutes to summon the courage to ask, and Aaron can’t stop himself from grinning.

 

“Yeah, she’s here, like always.”

 

James hesitated. “Maybe I’ll say hi to her,” he decided.

 

Aaron wasn’t the type to meddle in other people’s affairs, but he would be a stupid man if he didn’t notice James’ intense crush on Dolley. “I think she would like that,” he said, and smacked James on the back as he walked past him. “Have fun!”

 

\---

 

Angelica parked her car in front of Monticello and jogged up the front steps.

 

“Peggy?” She said into her phone, pushing through the crowd of people. “I’m here. Where are you?”

 

“The bathroom on the first floor.”

 

Angelica turned the doorknob. “Oh my God.” Eliza and Peggy were both kneeling by the toilet. Lafayette was fast asleep in the bathtub, blissfully unaware, while Mulligan stood in the center of the bathroom eating from a party sized bag of Cheetos. “What the fuck did you guys do?”

 

“Eliza threw up first,” Peggy said, her voice hoarse, “And then I threw up. Then Eliza threw up again and watching Eliza throw up made me throw up.”

 

“And I peed in the shower,” Mulligan added cheerily.

 

Angelica stared at them. “Wake Lafayette up,” she commanded Mulligan, helping her sisters to their feet. “I’m taking all you idiots home.”

 

“I hate him.” Eliza said quietly. Angelica crouched down and looked her sister in the eyes, hands on her shoulders. She knows Eliza doesn't mean it, but that doesn't mean her heart still hurts for her little sister.

 

“Babe.”

 

“None of this would have happened if he didn’t do this to me,” Eliza blubbered, and Mulligan and Peggy looked at each other nervously, figuring out who “he” was. “He’s embarrassed me and now I’ve embarrassed myself.” She shut her eyes. “Why wasn’t I enough for him?”

 

Angelica cringes. “You’re tired and you’re drunk, baby. Let’s go home.”

 

“Should we tell someone about the mess we made?” Peggy whispered to her older sister as they emerged from the bathroom. Angelica shook her head.

 

“Let _Tommy J_ take care of it.”

 

 

 


	3. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander gets the dragging he deserves, thought not quite from the people you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing:
> 
> George Washington, a graduate student/TA in his last year at Columbia who's just at the very beginning of his political career. (Spoiler alert: he becomes president one day)
> 
> Some weird shit goes down in this chapter, and some of it (well, most of it) is left unresolved by the end of the chapter.

The reputable Schuyler family’s weekly Sunday brunch was uncomfortably quiet the next morning.

 

All three Schuyler sisters picked at their plates in silence, Peggy’s eyelids drooping, having been deprived of all but three hours of sleep thanks to the turbulent events of last night. Eliza could not keep herself from yawning loudly, and Angelica had a bottle of ibuprofen at her side. Their younger brother, Phil, had already abandoned the table, and they could hear his weekend morning cartoons playing on the television in the next room.

 

“Late night?” Mr. Schuyler asked, breaking the silence. “I had plenty of those in my days at Columbia,” he chuckled as his daughters nodded tiredly. “You know, my roommate almost filed a missing persons report once because I didn’t come home for a whole week—”

 

Mrs. Schuyler smacked her husband’s hand lightly. “So,” she asked, changing the subject quickly, “Do you girls have any plans for the week?”

 

“My friend asked me to his fraternity social,” Peggy piped up cheerfully. Immediately Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler began hounding Peggy with questions about said ‘friend,’ while Eliza and Angelica excused themselves from the table, carrying their plates into the kitchen.

 

“How are you, Eliza?” Angelica looked at her younger sister, who was meticulously scrubbing her dish with a soapy sponge.

 

“Fine.” Angelica stared at her. “Okay, maybe not fine,” Eliza confessed, putting down her plate. “It still hurts. A lot.”

 

Angelica kissed the top of Eliza’s forehead. “Well, you seem to be faring better than him.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“See for yourself.” Angelica opened her phone.

 

 **@leedleleedlelee** tweeted: If this tweet gets over 20 RTs I'll go draw a dick on Alexander Hamilton's face

 

 **@leedleleedlelee** tweeted: OVER 20 RTs YA BOY'S GONNA DO IT

 

 **@leedleleedlee** tweeted: I DID IT YOUR WELCOME AMERICA #FUCKHAM

 

 

 

 

\---

 

Some things to know about Monticello:

 

  1. The floorboards creak. Loudly.
  2. Not all of the doors lock.
  3. The walls are thin.



 

Aaron Burr woke up Sunday morning to the sound of the floorboards creaking in agony. He checked his alarm clock. 9:16.

 

He turned the doorknob that led to the bathroom, eager for a hot shower, when a pair of voices—one male, one female—gasped loudly, followed by a girl’s nervous laughter.

 

“Occupied!” Monroe cried out, and Aaron rolled his eyes. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was grateful for the Grey Goose that knocked him out last night; otherwise he was certain he would have heard Monroe and Kortright going at it all night.

 

“Have fun,” Aaron jeered, and went downstairs, where he found the bathroom to be completely unusable. He clamped a hand over his mouth and nose in disgust at the stench of vomit and piss and backed away, walking into the kitchen instead, where cups and beer cans were strewn across the floor, bottles of liquor still spread out on the countertop.

 

His phone buzzed.

 

 **Theo:** Sorry, didn’t see you called me until this morning. Rough night, I presume?

 

 **Burr:** Rough doesn’t even begin to cover it

 

He had the coffee machine brewing when Thomas came downstairs, looking disgruntled as he joined Aaron at the kitchen table, muttering something about the bathroom door needing a lock.

 

“Did you have a good night?” Aaron asked. He recalled seeing Thomas last night at around three in the morning. He had been arguing with someone, probably John Adams, over something stupid.

 

Thomas shrugged. “I’ve had better,” he admitted. “Also I was high, so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything. But it was cool that so many people came.”

 

“They came because of Dolley, not because of you,” Aaron teased, and Thomas flipped him off. “Just saying.”

 

“Speaking of Dolley,” Thomas said suddenly, and he stared, bug-eyed, at his phone screen. “Did you check Yik Yak today?”

 

Aaron reached across the table and takes Thomas’ phone. He lets out a loud laugh, practically a _guffaw_ , and leans back in his chair. “Ho-ly shit.”

 

What Aaron has just looked at is a Yik Yak that simply reads:

 

_did anyone else see dolley payne make out with that madison guy_

 

At first he struggles to believe it, but at 86 up-votes, it seems as though multiple people witnessed such a scene. It is only confirmed when James walks into the kitchen thirty minutes later with a dreamy look on his face, with a purplish mark just under his jaw.

 

“Morning,” he says cheerfully. Aaron does not think he has ever seen the young man look so confident in his entire life.

 

\---

 

He runs his face under the faucet for the fifteenth time, scrubbing at his cheek with a paper towel balled up in his fist.

 

Fuck Charles Lee. Fuck Thomas Jefferson. Fuck _anyone_ who was laughing at his misery, making sport out of his sacrifice.

He examined his face in the mirror, and though there is still a faint outline of a poorly drawn penis on his right cheek, he wanted nothing more than to return to his schoolwork and decided that it’ll only be visible in certain lighting.

 

“It’ll do,” Alexander said out loud to himself, and left the bathroom. Out of mere habit, he checked his phone for new notifications, despite having been absent on social media for the last 48 hours since the whole Reynolds scandal broke out. He’s still secretly hoping that Eliza, or John, or Angelica, or even _Burr_ might have contacted him, and tries not to be disappointed by his blank home screen.

 

The library had always been Alexander Hamilton’s haven, and he refused to let anyone take that from him, not even the sneering or snickering students staring after him as he walked back to his seat. He shoved his headphones in, so he could drown out the whispers he was sure were being passed around him. No sooner had he started typing did his phone start ringing. JOHN LAURENS, his phone screen read, and for a moment Alexander was so overcome with relief that he paid no mind to the dirty looks being shot at him from everyone in the library.

 

He pressed Answer immediately. “I’m in the library, give me two seconds to go outside,” he said breathlessly, and left all of his personal belongings unattended as he dashed out the library doors. “Oh my God, John, you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice—”

 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

 

Caught off-guard, Alexander opened his mouth as if to respond but no words came to his mouth as he held the phone to his ear, open-mouthed.

 

John continued. “Remember when you cheated on me with Eliza? After I moved to England? And I broke up with you, remember, because I was heartbroken that you couldn’t keep it in your pants for some girl who went to your college.”

 

“Laurens—”

 

“And now here we are, four years later, and it seems you couldn’t keep it in your pants for some other girl who goes to school with you, even though your girlfriend lives on the same fucking continent, same fucking state, same fucking campus as you! It’s like you never learn, Alexander.”

 

The way Laurens spits out ‘Alexander’ stings the most.

 

“I don’t even know why I kept talking to you after we broke up,” Laurens said, his voice growing softer after his outburst. “It was stupid of me, considering that I still like—still liked—you. And I don’t even know your girlfriend, don’t even like her that much, seeing as she’s the reason we’re done, but not even _I_ could have wished for you to have fucked up this hard. But you did. You fucked up, big time.” And then John pauses to catch his breath, and his voice trembles as he asks, “Did she ever even know? About us?”

 

Alexander swallows the giant lump in his throat. “What?”

 

“You know exactly what I’m asking you.”

 

“Well,” Hamilton begins. “She knows I have a friend named John who—who lives in London.”

 

“That’s it?” Laurens lets out a dry laugh. “This is fucking unbelievable.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Alexander’s voice is weak, and he’s had to sit down on the library’s stone steps in order to steady himself. “John, I’m so sorry.”

 

“I’m not the one you cheated on this time,” John tells him, “Though it hurts just as much as if you did.”

 

There’s a clicking noise and then the line goes dead.

 

\---

 

They are all surprised when he walks into the conference room. Madison lowers his eyes out of either modesty or shame, while Jefferson gapes, before he quickly regains composure and his lips curl into a sneer. Burr’s face is devoid of hardly any emotion at all, thanks to his hangover, though his eyes follow Alexander across the room. The underclassmen stare at him excitedly, no doubt forming some tweet or text or status post in their minds, announcing that, yes, Alexander Hamilton did dare to show his face at today’s Columbia student government meeting.

 

George cleared his throat, setting aside the papers he had been grading. “We’re glad you could join us,” he said. Thomas turned to James and pretended to gag. “Now, have a seat everyone. We have a lot to discuss.”

 

“We sure do,” Thomas seconded, flashing Alexander a vindictive smile as they took their seats.

 

Twenty minutes later, Thomas and Alexander were out of their seats, yelling at each other about the merits of financial aid, while George leaned back in his seat with hopeless resignation, only interjecting occasionally to tell them to lower their voices. It wouldn’t be long before they began hurling insults at each other, everyone knew, and waited in tense anticipation.

 

“If it weren’t for my scholarship, I wouldn’t be here!”

 

“Yeah, and the school would have been better off that way!”

 

“Look,” Alexander raised an accusatory finger, “If you’re going to use this Reynolds article to smear shit all over me until we graduate, be my fucking guest. But if that’s the case, then I think everyone deserves to know about you and _Sally Hemings!_ Poor Martha Wayles,” he crooned. “All alone in Virginia while her boyfriend gets it up with—”

 

“Enough!” George’s voice boomed, and Alexander knew well enough to shut his mouth when the president raised his voice.

 

Thomas had a look on his face unlike anything Alexander had ever seen before. For once, he didn’t even answer back, like he usually did against George’s protests. Instead his face grew pale and he looked—what was the word? Vulnerable. Yes, Thomas Jefferson looked vulnerable as he staggered backwards from the table.

 

And then his eyes narrowed, and before anyone could stop him, he lurched across the table and grabbed Alexander by the collar, their faces so close together that their foreheads touched. The room fell silent.

 

“Don’t ever bring up my girlfriend again,” he snarled. “You don’t know shit about my life.”

 

George was out of his seat by now. “Put him down, Jefferson,” he commanded.

 

Thomas acquiesced, shooting Alexander one more hate-filled glare before he turned his attention to George.

 

“Jefferson, Hamilton, you’re both suspended until I say so.”

 

“But—” Alexander began to argue.

 

“Think of it as a break, Hamilton,” George snapped, cutting him off. “Today’s meeting is adjourned,” George announced to everybody else. “I’ll send an email notifying you all when the next meeting will be.”

 

As he slung his backpack over his shoulder, Alexander could feel George’s eyes on him even with his back turned, and prepared himself for the inevitable “Hamilton,” that George would call him over with.

 

“Hamilton.” Ah, there it was.

 

Alexander turned around, his jaw clenched in annoyance. “Yes?”

 

“I know things are difficult for you right now,” George started sympathetically, and Alexander laughed harshly.

 

“Look. I’m not your son,” Alexander said briskly, “And you sure as hell aren’t my dad, so don’t give me this disappointed father bullshit, okay? I’m fine.”

 

George halted. “Yes, of course. My apologies.”

 

He knew that, once again, he had taken George’s kindness for granted, and for a moment felt a rush of regret as he slammed the door shut behind him.

 

\---

 

He wasn’t sure how this day could become any worse until he saw her at his door.

 

“What are you doing here?” Alexander asked Maria Reynolds harshly.

 

Maria flinched visibly, her eyes downcast. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to,” she said sullenly, “I just remembered that I forgot something in your room from—” She stopped and looks down the hallway nervously. “From the last time. I’ll leave as soon as I find it,” she assured him, and he sighed wearily and unlocked the door to his room, letting her follow him inside.

 

His room is still a mess, Maria noticed, glancing at the unmade bed and the desk that is hardly visible under all of the papers and textbooks piled on top of it. There’s three days worth of Chinese takeout on his nightstand, along with an empty bottle of beer, leading Maria to believe that he isn’t taking any of this very well. Alexander shrugs off his backpack and leans against the wall, watching Maria tread across the room carefully, scanning the floor.

 

It’s awkward as hell, as one might expect it to be. “So Jimmy and I are back together,” Maria said out loud, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence in the room.

 

That grabs even Alexander’s attention. “What? Why? He was a total dick to you.”

 

Maria shrugged. “I still like him.”

 

“You know he’s just going to treat you like shit again,” Alexander warned her, and she turned around and rolled her eyes at him.

 

“Like _you_ didn’t?”

 

“Excuse me,” Alexander began to argue, and Maria knows she’s in for a lecture from the gleam in his eyes, “I’m the one who protected you from your asshole boyfriend when you had nobody else—”

 

“You didn’t protect me from _shit_ ,” Maria spat out. “Let me remind you that you’re the one who told me you didn’t have a girlfriend. You’re the one who decided to tell the entire school about us, just so you could pretend you’re so noble and shit. You dragged me down with you, you jerk. Do you know how many have called me a slut since that article came out?” She pulls out her phone. “Oh, look, one new Twitter notification. _I hope you die, you pathetic whore,_ ” she reads aloud. “Yeah, thanks a lot. You really protected me.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye she sees the earring she had lost glimmering on the carpet, and stoops down to pick it up.

 

“Found it. I’ll be on my way now.”

 

Alexander stares after Maria as she strides out of his room, earring in hand.

 

He punches his wall so hard the knuckles on his fist bleed.

 

\---

 

 **Peggy:** So don’t look up from your phone but Maria Reynolds is right behind you in the salad bar line

 

Eliza’s whole body stiffens as she reads her sister’s text, but she forces herself to act as natural as possible as she reaches for the salad tongs. The intense, almost overbearing, scent of perfume hits her as the girl behind her reaches for a plate, and Eliza can hear the bracelets and bangles on Maria’s arms jingle.

 

Eliza begins piling an assortment of vegetables onto her salad, bumping elbows with Maria as they both reach for the crouton tongs.

 

“Sorry,” they both squeak in unison, and are forced to look at each other as their heads turn in astonishment.

 

“Sorry,” Maria blurts out again, her face turning red, and suddenly all heads in the salad line, if not the cafeteria, have swiveled to stare at the showdown occurring.

 

Eliza’s instinct is to bristle in defensiveness, but her shoulders slacken. Maria realizes she is not scared of Eliza Schuyler. Her face is too kind, she thinks.

 

“It’s okay,” Eliza says softly, and she picks up her tray and moves along.

 

They both sleep easier that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys are still wondering, Martha Wayles is Jefferson's long-distance girlfriend. You'll hear more about her and Sally later.
> 
> And yes, Charles Lee did spell you're as your.


	4. The Boldest Oldest: An Interview With Angelica Schuyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the gossip of New York is insidious. 
> 
> Just a brief update/intermission to let you guys know that THE STORY STILL LIVES (not an April Fool's joke, don't worry). Sorry that I couldn't post anything longer, I have other stuff written down but it's not quite ready to face the masses.

_Angelica Schuyler is a busy woman. I can tell from the way she walks into the café, striding confidently through the doors in Jimmy Choo stiletto heels and rocking a blood-red pantsuit that she confesses to me was spotted on the clearance rack at EXPRESS, looking preoccupied as she chats on the phone with somebody probably more important than me. As I get up from my seat to greet her, she gives me a bone-crushing handshake (my fingers are still sore), before sitting down and ordering a triple espresso shot macchiato with a dash of cinnamon._

_You’re not a true New Yorker unless you know who the Schuyler family is, or more importantly, the Schuyler Sisters. Each of them—Angelica, Elizabeth, and Peggy—are stunningly beautiful, precocious, charming, not to mention outrageously intelligent; all three sisters are currently enrolled in Columbia University. Though none of the sisters are related by blood, their intimate bond would convince you otherwise. Angelica was accepted into a number of prestigious schools across the country, from Harvard to Stanford, but she claimed that her decision to stay close to home at Columbia was because she “couldn’t stand the thought of being apart from [her] sisters.” Now, at 24, Angelica Schuyler is finishing up her Dual Masters in Women’s Studies and Leadership, and I’m here to chat with her about life, love, plans for the future, and most importantly, a scandalous allegation that has currently taken Columbia University by storm._

**Miss Schuyler, you’ll finally be done with school this spring when you graduate from Columbia University with your Masters. Are you ready to say goodbye?**

Oh, wow. (Laughs) You just reminded me how soon graduation is… I’d say I’m ready to move on, though. I think it’s easy for me to say this because I’ll most likely stay in New York after graduation, so I know my family is close by.

 

**No travel plans then?**

_She ponders for a moment._ Not right now, no. But I would like to see Europe while I’m still young. I’ve always wanted to go to London.

 

**You just recently were the recipient of the Abigail Adams Award by The American Association of University Women for your work in expanding education among young girls in the inner city. Are you continuing your work there post-graduation?**

Yes. Absolutely. Once I’m done with school, I’ll be able to focus all of my attention on the girls and my non-profit, which I’m currently organizing. I’m really proud of the changes that I’ve seen in some of these neighborhoods, but there’s still so, so much work to be done. _(For more information about Angelica’s non-profit, click here.)_

**That’s fantastic.**

Thank you.

 

**Now, moving onto the serious stuff. You have a reputation amongst your peers for being ‘notoriously single,’ which I just find impossible for a woman like you. What’s the deal with boys _maintenant_? **

Excuse me?

 

_The air between Miss Schuyler and me seems to thicken with tension as she sets her macchiato down on the table with a loud clatter. If looks could kill… well, I wouldn’t be here right now._

**Perhaps I should move onto the next question—**

A wise decision.

 

**How are your sisters doing?**

_She softens immediately at the mention of her sisters. Phew. I can live to see another day._ They’re good; I mean as good as any college student can be. (Laughs) I see them just about everyday, so I’m always up to date with their lives. I’m actually having dinner with them tonight.

 

**Your youngest sister, Peggy, I heard she’s a bit of a party animal. Can you confirm these rumors?**

(Laughs loudly) Yeah, I’ll admit she goes to a lot more fraternity functions than I did when I was an undergrad. Her dates know better than to try anything though, because they know I’m her big sister. (Winks)

 

**We haven’t seen much of your other sister, Eliza, lately. Can you tell us what she’s up to?**

My sister’s been going through some personal issues lately, but she’s a fighter.

 

**Are those ‘personal issues’ you mentioned related to the Reynolds Scandal?**

Oh, Jesus Christ. Is that what you’re calling it now?

 

**It’s the talk of New York City.**

Okay, you know what—you want to hear about the ‘Reynolds Scandal?’ I can tell you all you need to know about it. _Her voice has raised a considerable amount, and suddenly I feel like there are a thousand pairs of eyes on us in the café._ My sister’s boyfriend, Alexander Hamilton, is an ungrateful dips*** who couldn’t keep it in his pants for some poor freshman girl, and he doesn’t deserve my sister at all. There you go. All you need.

 

**But you and Hamilton have always shared an intimately close relationship, have you not?**

Excus—Are you accusing me right now?

 

**I’m just stating the facts, Miss Schuyler.**

I’m quite close with him. But I have no respect for any man who betrays his woman.

 

**So you have not talked to him since the incident?**

No.

 

**Forgive me, Miss Schuyler, I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but the reason I am compelled to bring it up is because there are many people talking.**

Talking about what?

 

**Some people say that this freshman girl is not the first woman your sister’s boyfriend has been involved with.**

Are you—are you talking about me? You’re accusing me of cheating with my sister’s boyfriend. My. Own. Sister.

 

**I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.**

I see.

 

_She leans across the table so that her nose is almost touching mine, and her voice is so low it’s practically inaudible as she whispers to me._

Listen here, you punkass reporter, I love my sister more than anything in this life. If you think that there’s even a chance that I would ever do that to her, you’re the biggest piece of s*** I’ve ever met. _One can see that Miss Schuyler’s Ivy League education has served her well in the eloquence department._

**So it’s not true?**

_Miss Schuyler gets up from her seat and swings her Givenchy purse over her shoulder._ Go f*** yourself. _What a lady!_

**Before you go, Miss Schuyler—any last words?**

Yeah, okay, here you go. Alexander Hamilton can go suck a d***.

**Want to know who the Schuyler Sisters have loved in the past? Click here to see a slideshow of former flames. **

\---

 

Eliza looks up from the computer, her mouth agape. “Is this real?” She asks incredulously.

 

“You _actually_ flipped off a columnist from The New York Post?” Peggy chimes in, although she sounds less mortified than her soft-spoken sister and rather more impressed.

 

Angelica, who has been pacing back and forth across her apartment, stops and looks down at her two younger sisters perched on the sofa. She’s calmed down a considerable amount, after a long session in the kickboxing studio, but even now she can still feel the anger boiling in her veins.

 

“The media is fucking bullshit,” she barks. “And Mom and Dad are fucking pissed and won’t stop calling to tell me about my ‘inappropriate behavior’, but I don’t care. I don’t regret it. That douchebag had it coming.”

 

“I just wish you hadn’t—” Eliza begins, and stops herself.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Eliza.”

 

“Okay!” Eliza raises her head to look at the ceiling and sighs. “I… I wish you hadn’t been so hard on Alex.”

 

Angelica’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?”

 

“It’s okay,” Peggy interrupted consolingly, stroking Eliza’s hair. “The fuckboys are always the hardest to get over.”

 

“He’s not a—he’s not that!” Eliza looks between both of her sisters desperately. “He’s not a—a you know. You guys have always loved him. Peggy, you’ve always liked him, haven’t you? Until this— this _thing_?”

 

Peggy purses her lips and furrows her eyebrows. “I mean, I guess so. Yes.”

 

Angelica keeps her eyes locked on the floor but she can feel Eliza’s big brown eyes burning into the back of her head. She’s bracing herself.

 

“And Angelica,” Eliza’s sweet voice implores, “I know you’ve always loved him, like a brother. I mean, you’re the one who introduced us.”

 

Angelica shuts her eyes, the words ‘like a brother’ ringing in her ears like damnation. “I introduced him to you because you asked me to,” she says wearily. _I had no intention of doing so if you didn’t say anything_ , she thinks, but she knows that it would kill both her sister and herself if she ever told her the truth.

 

“But I know you like him. Why are you so hard on him?”

 

 _Why am I so hard on him?_ Angelica thinks. _I’ll tell you why._

 

Because sure, Angelica may have gotten over Alexander Hamilton, but she knows Eliza won’t. She probably never will. In fact, she knows Eliza will most likely forgive Alexander Hamilton, and after a million false promises he’ll take her for granted again, and the cycle will repeat but she’ll love him anyways, and so will he, in his own selfish, demanding manner. And there’s not a damn thing Angelica can do about it except be angry with him. So Angelica is angry at Alexander, hard on Alexander on Eliza’s behalf, because she can’t fathom how her sister has dealt so long with a man as reckless and ambitious and honestly, _honestly_ sometimes as shitty as the scrappy law student she met only so many years ago at the annual Schuyler Gala, looking out of place with his borrowed suit and scuffed shoes.

 

So yeah, she’s going to be hard on him. But that’s not what she tells Eliza.

 

“He’ll always be this way, baby,” Angelica says aloud, feeling very tired suddenly.

 

Eliza smiles softly, and Angelica cannot fathom how Alexander Hamilton could ever live with himself for betraying this woman’s trust. “I know.”


	5. Aaron Burr, Sir?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an ex-boyfriend and now possibly ex-girlfriend hating his guts, Alexander is forced to think about what he wants, with some help from Lafayette. Meanwhile, Aaron Burr is running into some deep shit of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK BACK AGAIN!!! I AM!!! So excited to return to this story, and so sorry I haven't done so any sooner. Thanks for being patient guys.

Lafayette works at the gym, where he knows just about everyone on a first-name basis. There are the baby-faced freshmen and sophomore girls who like to linger at the gym desk during his shifts until they notice the photograph of Adrienne tacked to the computer monitor, the douchey fraternity brothers who snobbishly ignore Lafayette until they see him bench press five times their best weight and now greet him with fist bumps whenever they cross paths, even the awkward, clearly more introverted students who go to the gym for their weekly workouts feel comfortable enough to give Lafayette a shy smile. He likes to think that he knows everyone who goes to the gym.

 

Which is why he isn’t prepared to see Alexander Hamilton on a treadmill set at full speed, his sneakers smacking against the rubber and the entire front of his t-shirt stained in sweat, not to mention the rest of his body.

 

“Alexander?”

 

Alexander is wearing headphones and his eyes are glued to the treadmill’s small television screen displaying CNN, so Lafayette takes it upon himself to press the STOP button.

 

“What the—” Alexander yanks his headphones out of his ears as he comes to an abrupt stop, almost falling over himself. “Laf, what the hell?”

 

“I should be asking you the same question, mon ami. You _never_ come to the gym.”

 

Alexander shrugs. “I’m stressed out,” he grunts. “Like, so stressed that I can’t even focus in the library right now. Wikihow told me I need more exercise.”

 

“You look like you need more sleep,” Lafayette remarks, looking his friend up and down in concern. The bags under Alexander’s eyes are so dark that they look like they were drawn on in cartoonish exaggeration and his breath is ragged, though that might be from the treadmill.

 

“I can’t,” Alexander whines. “Not until Eliza or John speak to me again.”

 

“Well… I fear that neither wish to speak to you _maintenant_.”

 

Alexander scoffs. “Thanks.”

 

Lafayette hates to see his any of his friends in pain, but as much as his heart stirs for Alexander’s plight, he can’t help but remind himself that if it weren’t for Alexander’s own reckless choices Eliza would not be grieving and John Laurens would not be suffering in London. As his darling Adrienne would say, _C’est une petite probleme_.

 

“I just feel so helpless,” Alexander said finally. “Like I can’t do anything and it’s driving me fucking insane. I’ve never felt like this before in my life.”

 

Lafayette can believe this. Alexander always seemed to have a course of action for everything. He recalls the first time Elizabeth Schuyler said hello to Alexander, in the dining hall, while her sisters impatiently lingered a few feet behind her and stared at Alexander and his friends disdainfully. He remembers how Alexander watched her disappear into the next room, grinning to himself before turning back to his friends.

 

“That’s Elizabeth Schuyler,” Alexander had told them that evening. “I’m going to going to ask her out and then we are going to get married and have beautiful multiracial babies.” As funny as it was at the time, Lafayette now recognizes the same intense determination that fuels all of Alexander’s decisions in the lighthearted remark, and realizes he wasn’t joking. He was never joking.

 

“You love her,” he said all of a sudden, and Alexander turned his attention away from the news report flashing on the TV screen.

 

“Of course,” Alexander starts defensively, “I mean— Yes. I do.”

 

“You love John too.” Not an accusation, a mere statement.

 

A more hesitant, but still clear ‘Yes’ follows.

 

“There is no shame in loving more than one person,” Lafayette soothes him. “But there is great shame in bringing harm to one, or both. Have you ever thought about telling her?"

 

Alexander's response is immediate. "I can't. I—I mean, her dad is Senator Philip fucking Schuyler, for one. I literally have an internship lined up with his re-election campaign — I — I can't tell them — It'd ruin her, Lafayette. This is already too much for her, she'd never give me a second chance if she knows I was with a bo—" He halts, realizing he's in public, and hangs his head low. "You know."

 

Lafayette reaches out and pats his friend's back. "I know," he replies quietly. "But it's nothing to be ashamed of, Alexander. Don't you think it's better to come clean to her if you want another chance? Besides, it's Eliza. Eliza would understand —"

 

"No she wouldn't," Alexander cuts him off, and Lafayette is shocked by the aggression in his voice. Alexander grabs his sweat towel and water bottle and pushes Lafayette aside. "I just can't," he says over his shoulder as he leaves the gym. "Sorry Laf. I'll see you later."

 

Lafayette watches him go, and is unsure whether he should call after Alexander and finish his sentence. _You'd better tell her,_ he was going to say, _before John Laurens tells her himself._

\---

 

“How is it,” Aaron says as he steps onto the balcony, “That you manage to take my breath away each time I look at you?”  

 

Theo, whose arms are propped against the balcony railing, turns her head back to roll her eyes at Aaron, but she still smiles. “And how is it that I’ve managed to tolerate your Casanova maneuvers for this long?”

 

He steps forward and makes to plant a kiss on her forehead, and tries to hide his hurt when she turns her face away from him and gently pushes him away from her. He clears his throat awkwardly and looks down at his feet.

 

“Not out here,” she says, her voice slightly raised in panic, and it is one of the few times that Aaron has ever seen his Theodosia lose her composure. But then again, he has to remind himself that she is the wife of one of Wall Street's most respected businessmen, and it would not be particularly appropriate for her to be seen embracing another man outside of her own home, even if they are on the fifth story.

 

Aaron swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes, of course. That was stupid of me.”

 

Theodosia softens immediately, and she reaches up to take his face in both of her hands. “You are the last person I would consider stupid. Come on. Let’s go inside.”

 

They have a routine, the two of them, after every night they spend together. Aaron makes the bed, while Theo heads to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. This morning is no different, or so Aaron thinks. He finishes making the bed, and walks into the bathroom to wash his face. As he reaches around the sink for a towel, he knocks something over, and it clatters against the bathroom tile. With his face still dripping with water, Aaron bends down to see what it is.

 

His entire body freezes at the sight of a pregnancy test box.

 

He picks it up gingerly, as if his life depends on it—which it kind of does, he thinks to himself—and he examines the box. It’s already been opened. He gives it a slight shake. It’s empty.

 

Aaron can’t stop himself. He tears the bathroom apart, practically turns it inside out as he searches frantically, desperately, for that small plastic object missing from that box, and he’s running out of places to search until his eyes finally land on the garbage can. He feels his stomach drop. _Did she...?_ He shamelessly dumps the contents out, and his heart sinks as he pushes aside lipstick-stained tissues and tampon wrappers and uncovers the discarded pregnancy test.

 

“Aaron?” Theodosia calls out. “Breakfast is ready.”

 

Aaron opens his mouth to respond, but he’s not capable of forming words at the moment.

 

“Aaron?”

 

“I’ll be right there, baby,” he chokes out.

 

It’s positive.

 

\---

 

When Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr were mere freshmen at Columbia University, they were, as everyone knows, roommates. Their infamous rivalry is now an essential chapter of Columbia student folklore, an Aesop-worthy fable of two young men with the same ambitions and upbringing who found out despite their similarities, they were totally, completely incompatible. But this story, like all stories, has been simplified over time, and overlooks parts that are unnecessary to the principle message of the story. In order to really understand their relationship, which is more complicated than the fable grants them, we must go back to 5 years ago in November, two days before Thanksgiving.

 

Aaron had quickly discovered that not even years of college prep at Princeton could prepare himself for the true academic rigor of an Ivy League establishment. Two weeks into the first semester and he was already drowning in a flurry of assignments and extracurricular activities, fighting for a position on student government alongside his loud-mouth roommate, who had a habit of returning from the library at 6 am. To say the least, Aaron thought he was going crazy. Which brought him to Saint John the Divine.

 

Aaron never considered himself to be religious. As a child, he feigned interest to appease his family, particularly his father who was a minister himself, but when he was gone there was no longer a reason to. Still, Aaron happened to be passing the cathedral on an especially bad day when he glanced inside and slowed down. Before he knew what he was doing, he was sitting in one of the pews, his hands folded in his lap. He told Theodosia once about it.

 

"It's the tranquility," he explained to her. "It helped me clear my head. It made me forget the world outside. It didn't make me feel any closer to my dead dad or anything corny like that. It just, I don't know, it helped."

 

Starting in those first few weeks of freshman year, Aaron had already made a routine out of going to Saint John whenever he was upset or annoyed or overwhelmed. That Tuesday in November he headed there after an impossible exam that he most likely failed, even though he studied for weeks in preparation. Countless nights in the library wasted.

 

He made a small donation, like usual, then slipped into a front pew and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He could hear someone else walking down the aisle, heels clacking rather loudly, and to his annoyance he could hear this person slide noisily into the pew behind Aaron, unzipping their coat with a screech and breathing heavily.

 

Aaron turned around, ready to politely ask them to be more quiet, but when he came face to face with his own roommate, Alexander Hamilton, the loud-mouth, obnoxious, stays in the library until 6 am Alexander Hamilton, he is at a loss for words.

 

"Alex?"

 

Alexander looks back at him like a deer caught in headlights. "Aaron?"

 

"What are you doing here?"

Alexander does not make eye contact with him but plays with the frays on his winter coat nervously. "Um," he laughs, "Just felt like it." He sniffs, and Aaron finally notices that Alexander's eyes are watering.

 

"Uh..." _Oh God, Aaron, why are you so awkward?_ "Everything good?" He finally asks lamely.

 

This time Alexander raises his hands to shield his face from Aaron, still sniffling. "Yeah, yeah," he says, but it's not convincing at all. "John Adams is a douchebag."

 

"That's the fat kid who hangs out with Thomas Jefferson, right?"

 

Alexander looks up briefly at Aaron, smiling weakly. "Yeah. We were in class talking about our plans for Thanksgiving and uh, he, I guess he thought it was funny to tell everyone that I have no plans because I have no family." He has to choke out the last two words.

 

"Oh." _Oh? Is that the best you can do?_ "What a dick." _Wow. You are really bad at this._

 

"I know it's only because he's jealous that I got a higher grade on my presentation than him," Alexander says haughtily, but his shoulders drop again. "But..."

 

"You don't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving?"

 

Alexander shoots him a pointed glare. "No, Aaron, I don't," he snaps, "I just told you so."

 

"I'm — I'm sorry, I knew you were like me but I didn't think — I mean I didn't know that —" Aaron remembered how excited Alexander was upon discovering they were both orphans, but Aaron had grandparents, siblings, distant relatives all across the tri-state area. It had never occurred to him that Alexander might not have anyone at all.

 

But it explained a lot.

 

"It's okay. I'm sorry for snapping at you." Alexander wiped his eyes and laughed embarrassedly. "This is weird."

 

"Yeah."

 

"I should probably go," Alexander said, putting his coat back on. "I'll see you back at the room?"

 

Aaron nods, still stunned. As he watches his roommate walk down the pews, he realizes how small Alexander Hamilton really is, sans his larger than life personality.

 

"Alex!" Aaron yells, ignoring the dirty looks the visitors give him. He gets up and runs after Alexander. "Would you like to go home with me? For Thanksgiving?" He continues to ramble nervously, desperate to fill up the awkward silence between them as Alexander stares at him incredulously. "It's just my grandparents and me, my sister is abroad, so there's an empty seat at the table—"

 

He is cut off by Alexander flinging his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "Oh, um, okay," Aaron continues, "This is okay, I guess."

 

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you," Alexander says. "I'll never forget this, Aaron Burr, as long as I live."

 

"Um." Aaron coughs, and Alexander releases him. "You're welcome."

 

A day later Alexander comes back to their room and profusely thanks Burr once more for the invitation, but his TA George has offered to take him in for Thanksgiving. Aaron doesn't take it personally. Frankly, he is relieved. He knows that Alexander prefers Washington to Burr any day.

 

"I'll never forget that it was you who was the first person who asked me to go home with them," Alexander tells Aaron, just as he is about to leave for George's on Wednesday afternoon.

 

For a second, Aaron is touched. But then he remembers who he's talking to and throws a pillow at Alexander. "Oh yeah? What about Kitty Livingston?"

 

Alexander laughs. So does Aaron.

 

\---

 

Five years later, it is Alexander who turns around in Saint John's cathedral and sees Aaron Burr in the corner of a pew, hiding his face his hands.

 

"Fuck off," Aaron says as Alexander takes the seat next to him, and peeks out from behind his hand. "I'm so sorry, that was rude of me — Ho-ly shit."

 

"Well if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir," Alexander quips, using the obnoxious greeting he's made for Aaron ever since move-in day freshman year. "There is some serious deja vu going on right now."

 

"Right." Aaron looks Alexander up and down warily, having not seen him since the last student government meeting. "Dude, you look like shit."

 

Alexander bursts out laughing. "Yeah, that tends to happen when you've managed to destroy your social reputation and isolate yourself from your closest relationships."

 

"Well, you're not the only one," Aaron mutters, and Alexander looks at him curiously.

 

"Hold up. Are you saying... no, are you _daring_ to say that you might possibly have it worse than me right now?"

 

Aaron finally raises his head to look Alexander fully in the face. "Yes. I am."

 

"Give it to me."

 

"I'm sleeping with a married woman who I'm desperately in love with and I found her positive pregnancy test in the trash can this morning. I know it's my baby because her husband is sterile and she hasn't seen him in five months."

 

Alexander stares at him, his jaw hanging. "Shit man."

 

"I want her to keep it." Aaron says flatly.

 

"Aaron..."

 

"I don't know why," Aaron rushes to answer. "I really don't. A baby is the last thing I need. Christ, I don't need a baby for the next twenty years but I — I just —"

 

"Want it."

 

"We are so stupid," Aaron sighs. He flinches when Alexander puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

"Aaron Burr, you are not stupid. At least, not as stupid as John Adams."

 

Aaron laughs. So does Alexander.

 

\---

Across the Atlantic in a modest London flat, a young man is pacing back and forth across his bedroom, periodically glancing at the cell phone on his desk like it's a bomb.

 

He can't. No, he must. No, he can't.

 

"Enough!" He says to the empty room. He has to do this. He picks up the phone and dials a number, his hands shaking.

 

"Hello?" The voice is soft, and sweet like sugar. John shudders.

 

"Is this Eliza Schuyler?"

 


	6. Congratulations, You Just Got Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title speaks for itself.

Angelica's been dragged to a fundraiser event by her mother to repent for her sins to the New York Post, issuing a public apology to the newspaper (she refused to apologize to the reporter himself; this was the compromise) and saving the Schuyler family name from ruin. She has only relented because Philip Schuyler threatens to cut his funding to her non-profit, and because Mrs. Schuyler warns her that the press will go after her sisters next, if there is no apology.

 

Mrs. Schuyler eyes her eldest daughter disapprovingly when Angelica reaches for her fourth glass of champagne in the afternoon. "Angelica," Mrs. Schuyler says through a tight-lipped smile, "Perhaps you should slow down."

 

"Mother," Angelica scoffed. "I already did my part. I even followed that ridiculous script you and Daddy wrote, word for word."

 

"The tears were a nice touch," Mrs. Schuyler remarked. Near the end of her apology, Angelica allowed her voice to break slightly, and forced her eyes to water in an illusion of sincerity as she excused her actions as an emotional outburst, caused by her period, because there wasn't a single soul who was going to question a woman's menstrual cycle. 

 

Angelica grinned, pleased. "They were, weren't they?"

 

They clinked glasses. "That's my girl."

 

Angelica's cell phone started buzzing just then, and when she glanced at the caller ID her brow furrowed at the international number. "Sorry," she mouthed to her mother, and slipped out of the room. "Angelica Schuyler."

 

"I think you should go see your sister," an unknown male voice says.

 

"Who is this?"

 

"I'm really sorry." The line went dead.

 

\---

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Peggy?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** yah

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Are you okay?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** yes ?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** did mommy ask you to text me because tell her that i already told her i was going to the mixer with stevie tomorrow and she cant stop me

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** So you don't need me to come and see you?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** also stevie is rich so idk why she's so psycho about him she wasn't even this annoying when eliza brought alexander home

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** and no why would i need you???

 

Angelica inhaled sharply and looked up from her phone. If it wasn't Peggy —

 

Eliza. Of course, he was talking about Eliza. "Shit," Angelica muttered, and dialed her sister's phone number. "Come on, Eliza, pick up, pick up, pick up—"

 

A moment later the ringing finally stopped. "Eliza?"

 

There was a muffled noise on the other end.

 

"Eliza, I can't hear you."

 

"I want him to burn." Eliza's voice finally came through clearly on the other end.

 

"Eliza—" Before Angelica could speak, Eliza had hung up. "Shit!"

 

\---

 

Eliza's fate as the middle child was sealed ever since Philip and Catherine Schuyler decided to adopt her after Angelica. Even her name was decided for her; she was originally born Hue Nguyen but christened and raised as Elizabeth Schuyler. There was no question that all of the Schuyler Sisters were beautiful, intelligent, and amiable young women. But where Angelica was the pride of the family as her father's protégée, and Peggy the treasured baby, with her charm and cunning, Eliza was the darling, which was just a nice way of saying that she was the most dependable.

 

So while Angelica made headlines in her teenage years protesting for women's rights in Washington, and Peggy was grounded for sneaking yet another boy through her bedroom window, Eliza's goodness remained a constant in the Schuyler family. Once, in middle school, she overheard a boy describe her as the "boring one," and she spent her lunch period hiding in the bathroom, trying to blot away the tears that kept rolling down her cheeks with toilet paper, until Angelica found her.

 

"You? Boring?" Angelica laughed. "Eliza, you are the most interesting of all. People get fooled by your niceness into thinking that's all they need to know about you. But when they do that, they don't actually know _you_ , the real you. This makes you the most unpredictable out of all three of us."

 

At the time, Eliza was not yet fully convinced, but Angelica's words were enough to get her out of the bathroom stall and back on the playground. It'd take her years to finally understand what her sister meant, only in different words, from a different person.

 

"You. Are. Extraordinary."

 

Eliza pushed her damp hair out of her face and smiled at the face above her. "Yeah, right. Do you say this to every girl you take to bed?"

 

Alexander Hamilton's face fell when she said that, and she instantly regrets it.

 

"I mean," Eliza scrambles for a better response, "That's just so nice of you to say that it's kind of difficult for me to believe, you know?"

 

"You can't possibly mean that," Alexander says with a grin, and he rolls off of Eliza so that he's lying by her side, but still facing her.

 

Eliza shrugs. "Extraordinary is not a word I hear a lot to describe me."

 

"There are not enough words in the English language to describe how lovely you are, Eliza. I mean it."

 

He reaches out to gently tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and Eliza feels something stir deep inside her then. But the moment passes and she can't help but laugh when she runs over his words again in her mind.

 

"Okay, Shakespeare, this is only the second date," she says. "So you had better mean everything you're saying."

 

"I prefer Lord Byron to Shakespeare, actually."

 

"The crazy guy? Who cheated on his wife?"

 

Alexander scrunched his face in contemplation. "Shit, you're right. Okay, Shakespeare it is!" He pulled Eliza close to him and kissed the tip of her nose. "But really, I mean everything I said," he added. Even in the dark, he's dazzled by her smile, the way she lowers her eyes humbly and bites her bottom lip.

 

He kisses her again, this time on the lips. She kisses him back.

 

"Hey, can we do that thing again?" His lips brush against her neck as he speaks.

 

"What thing?"

 

"That thing where I go down on you while you try to recite the preamble of the Constitution from memory and see how far you can go."

 

Eliza hides her face under her hands, reddening. "Oh my God."

 

"Think you can get past _We the People_ this time?"

 

Eliza looks down at Alex, situated in between her legs with a smirk across his face. A challenge. She can take a challenge. After all, she is extraordinary, as of today.

 

"We the People..." Eliza starts, giggling. She doesn't get much further past that.

 

But that was years ago, four years ago, to be precise. Eliza shakes the memory out of her head, and lights a match, staring into the garbage bin where all of her photographs of Alexander have been disposed.

 

"How's this for extraordinary," she says coldly, and drops the match into the bin.

 

\---

 

There's a fire truck parked outside of Eliza's apartment building when Angelica gets there. She has to push her way through a crowd of curious onlookers to find her younger sister, who is sitting on the curb, wrapped in a rescue blanket.

 

"Eliza!" Angelica throws her arms around her sister. "What happened?"

 

"Your friend here tried to burn her trash inside of her dorm," a fireman standing nearby interjected. "Fire alarm went off, naturally. Nothing serious, no injuries or damages to the room at all, although I suspect she'll have to pay a fine to the school for breaking housing rules. Just a mistake, right, sweetheart?"

 

Angelica narrowed her eyes. "Don't 'sweetheart' her. And she's my sister." She turns to Eliza, who still wears a blank expression on her face. "Eliza? Is this true?"

 

Eliza's eyes are glued to the concrete. "I wanted him to burn," she says flatly.

 

"Of course," Angelica soothes her, "Don't we all. But I need you to tell me why — why you decided to do this _now_. Did something happen?"

 

"I'll tell you what happened," Eliza chokes out, and she looks up at Angelica, who is taken aback by the anger that lights up her sister's eyes. "His _boyfriend_ called me."

 

\---

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** Just saw Angelica Schuyler storm across campus towards the lib. Hope someone's made funeral arrangements for @A_Hamilton

 

\---

 

The door behind his back opens but Alexander, like always, is too absorbed in his work to look up. "Occupied," he calls out over his shoulder, "I think the study room next door is open though—"

 

"Cut the shit, Alex." He stiffens, instantly recognizing Angelica's voice, and turns around slowly to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. "You have literally invented a new kind of stupid."

 

"Angelica."

 

But she continues, raising her voice so it overtakes his. "First, you cheat on my sister with Maria Reynolds. Next, she's telling me that you have a secret boyfriend—"

 

Alexander rises out of his seat. "Who told her that?"

 

"It doesn't matter, does it," Angelica spits back at him. "Because it's true, isn't it? You went behind her back not once, but _twice_. Or is there a third time I don't know about yet? How many times, Alex?"

 

"He's not my—" Alexander cringes. "Angelica, I can explain everything—"

 

"Oh no, Alex, I don't think that's necessary. I already know everything I need to know, and that's that you've ruined my baby sister." Angelica yells. She is not yelling out of fury as much as she is yelling to drown out Alexander's words, because she knows what power they hold over her, or anyone, for that matter. "I cannot believe you," she laughs bitterly. "You can't even cheat on my sister once but you have to do it twice—"

 

"ELIZA WAS THE OTHER WOMAN!" Alexander shouts. The words escape his mouth before he has time to process them. Growing faint, he staggers backwards, gripping the sides of the desk behind him for support. "I cheated on John with Eliza when I came here," he explained, his head hung low. "He broke up with me when he found out."

 

Angelica slaps him across the face.

 

"My sister is not the other woman," Angelica says in a low voice. "And she is not just any woman, either. You will _never_ find another woman like my sister again on this earth."

 

"I know." He raises his eyes to meet Angelica's. "She's too good for us."

 

She wants to correct him, say "She's too good for _you,_ " but deep in her heart she knows he's right. And she knows that he knows it too. Suddenly she's afraid to be in the same room with him. He knows. He's always known.

 

 _God, what have we done,_ she thinks. "Eliza is the best thing in our lives," Angelica agrees, and turns to leave.

 

\---

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** Here lies @A_Hamilton, who parted this earth not soon enough for me tbh

 

**@A_Hamilton**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

why are you so obsessed with me

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @A_Hamilton:**

You wish I was

 

 **@DearAbigail tweeted:** Sorry to interrupt but this is getting kind of weird

RT: @urfavevirginian: You wish I was

 

**@A_Hamilton**

**Replying to @DearAbigail:**

abby, u know i respect you. your bf on the other hand...

 

 **@DearJohn tweeted:** yOU r NOThinG bUT a bASTard AND a BraT @A_Hamilton

 

 **@A_Hamilton tweeted:** are you having a seizure? @DearAbigail come grab ur mans 

RT: @DearJohn: yOU r NOThinG bUT a bASTard AND a BraT @A_Hamilton

 

 **@AaronBurr tweeted:** You people make me wish I could graduate earlier. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, writing about something as depressing as the Reynolds Pamphlet gets a lot more difficult when you still try to make it funny and light-hearted at times. I hope I'm doing an okay job of keeping a balance of both, but expect the next chapter to be a happy interlude 
> 
> Yes, John and Abigail Adams have matching usernames. I know that Hamilton antagonizes John Adams, but let me tell you, I fucking loved John Adams on HBO and the Adams's relationship was a treasure, it really was, so there's my tribute to it here.


	7. The Call You've Been Waiting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza, meet John. John, meet Eliza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a wild ride so hold on folks

"Hello?" The voice is soft, and sweet like sugar. John shudders, even hesitates. It's not too late to hang up, the voice inside his head whispers, but he shakes his head fervently. She deserves to know, he responds mentally, and the voice in his head hushes.

 

"Is this Eliza Schuyler?" He asks, and holds his breath, waiting.

 

"Yes?" He breathes out, and to his horror discovers he's so nervous that the palms of his hands are sweating profusely; the damn phone's about to slip out of his hand. "Um," he answers, switching hands so he can wipe his palm on his pants, "'Hello."

 

"Hello?" She repeats politely, but he can sense her confusion. John smacks a hand to his forehead in frustration. He's panicking. You're freaking her out, the little voice in his head hisses. Say something, idiot. To his relief, the girl speaks again. "Who is this?" She asks, and there is an edge of defensiveness in her voice. "Is this the New York Post?"

 

What? The New York Post? John blinks. "No, no," he finally blurts out, "Definitely not. I'm — I'm —" I'm John Laurens, at your service, the voice in his head taunts, American hero, degenerate son disowned by the great Henry Laurens. "My name is John Laurens," he says. Part of him hopes that she might recognize the name. _John? John Laurens? What a lovely surprise! Alexander's told me so much about you_. In reality, there is an uncomfortably long silence between them.

 

"Why are you calling me?" The words aren't pronounced rudely, but merely out of curiousity. John feels sick to his stomach.

 

"I'm — I'm —" I'm so sorry, you're going to hate me. "I used to date your boyfriend." He can hear her draw her breath in sharply, and he feels bad, but he forces himself to continue. "We were still dating when he started school, even made it to sophomore year until —" Until you happened. You, you, you. He can't bring himself to finish his sentence. "Well," he finishes awkwardly, a tinge of jealousy in his voice, "I'm sure you're wonderful."

 

"Oh," she gasps, realizing, "Oh my God. Alexander —" Yes, John thinks, Alexander cheated, but that's not how she finishes her statement. Instead, she cries out, "Alexander is _gay_?" and John spits out the water he's drinking. "Not at all," he rushes to reassure her, "He's not —" She cuts him off with another revelation. "He cheated!" And then, "I'm so sorry."

 

John is caught off guard by her apology. "It's not your fault," he responds. "We got played." He can hear her snort on the other end of the line. "That is an understatement," she retorts, "He broke my heart." Her voice drops to a whisper.

 

"Yeah, I know the feeling," John replies. "He broke mine too."

 

Eliza bravely swallows the lump in her throat. "Well," she says, "Thank you for telling me, um, John." She's pulling out all the drawers in her desk as they speak, old photographs and love notes scattered on the floor, and she's biting down on her lip so she won't scream. "I should go." She hangs up and hurtles her phone across the room before she collapses on her knees, weeping angrily as she crumples his letters in her fists.

 

"Hello? Eliza?" John sets his phone down. CALL ENDED, the screen reads. His expectation for this phone call was to finally be relieved of Alexander's secret, but he felt far from relieved after Eliza hung up on him. Come to think of it, he was more worried than he was before. He could detect the hurt in her voice, even though she had done a good job of suppressing it for the entire duration of the conversation, but he knew better. What if she hurts herself? He couldn't live with that possibility. So he does the only thing that seems rational in the moment, and calls the other number Lafayette begrudgingly forwarded to him.

 

"Angelica Schuyler," a voice answers briskly, and John is startled by the difference in her voice compared to Eliza. Is that a string quartet playing in the background? Who _are_ these people? Now is not the time, he decides. "I think you should go see your sister," he manages to get out.

 

"Who is this?" She asks the question in a much more aggressive tone than Eliza. Is she going to ask about the New York Post too? He wonders, but he is too scared to answer. "I'm really sorry," he says, rather lamely, and hangs up. He walks over to his bed and falls on his back, sinking into the mattress, his phone raised above his face.

 

 **John Laurens:** I did it

 **Fighting Frenchman:** hat

 **Fighting Frenchman: *** what???

 **John Laurens:** I told her

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** WHAT 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** my God

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** DUDES I AM SCREAMIDSFHFDAKJ

 **John Laurens:** She deserved to know!

 **John Laurens:** Didn't she?

_Fighting Frenchman added Ma Petite to the conversation_

**Ma Petite:** Gilbert qu'est-ce que c'est???

 **John Laurens:** Lafayette now is not the time to add your GIRLFRIEND TO OUR GROUP CHAT

 **Fighting Frenchman:** we need a woman's opinion

 **Fighting Frenchman:** she knows everything already anyways

 **John Laurens:** Ah of course she does

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** SHE CAN BE THE DOLLEY PAYNE TO OUR MONTICELLO

 **Ma Petite:** Quoi?

 **John Laurens:** What

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** NVM ITS TOO LONG TO EXPLAIN ITS A COLUMBIA THING

 **John Laurens:** Okay anyways...

 **John Laurens:** Adrienne? 

 **Ma Petite:** Je pense que la fille est très triste maintenant, mais après elle deviendra furieux. Elle veut te tuer probablement. C'est la vie. 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** to translate, she said I think that the girl is very sad right now but after she will become angry. she will probably kill you. that is life

 **John Laurens:** Great 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** VERY REASSURING

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** SORRY I CRACKED MY PHONE SCREEN SO I CAN ONLY TYPE IN ALL CAPS

 

John tossed his phone behind him and sighed, closing his eyes. His phone buzzed a couple more times and he reached back, feeling around blindly behind his head until he felt the device buzzing against his hand. To his surprise, there's a message from an unknown number on his screen.

 

 **Unknown:** hi

 **John Laurens:** Hey. Sorry, who is this?

 **Unknown:** it's Eliza

 

He drops his phone into his lap as if it's on fire. Could Adrienne be right? Was she going to kill him? She had sounded so kind over the phone; he could hardly imagine her going after him in such a way. Then again, it was always the quiet ones.

 

 **Eliza:** i'm not mad at you, if you were wondering

 **John Laurens:** I'm glad

 **John Laurens:** I'm so sorry, about everything. I mean it

 **Eliza:** you seem like a good person

 **John Laurens:** You too

 **Eliza:** let's be friends

 

John blinks. Friends? With his ex-boyfriend's girlfriend — no — ex-girlfriend? And then:

 

 **Eliza:** do you want to watch alexander hamilton go down in flames?

 

John audibly wheezes at the text, before seriously considering the question. Does he? Well, it would be nice, wouldn't it, after all the trouble he's put him through. Oh, to hell with it.

 

 **John Laurens:** Not literally, right? 

 **John Laurens:** But figuratively, by all means.

 **Eliza:** i have an idea

 **John Laurens:** Shoot 

 **Eliza:** let's date

 

This time, John's jaw drops along with his phone. "Oh my God," he breathes out loud. "That's..." Crazy? Deranged? Impossible, because he's primarily interested in men? Who does this girl think she is? Well, according to his brief Google search on her, she was the daughter of a U.S. Senator and a socialite, after all. One gossip website he glanced at went as far as to assign the Kardashian counterparts to each of the Schuyler sisters; Eliza got Kourtney because she was "the most chill and most likely to have kids." Based on these random facts, he had no idea what impression she made on him. But she didn't strike him as a rich bitch, or a backstabber, or anything like the kids he grew up with in his sheltered South Carolina suburbia. Of course Alexander was drawn to her. She was rich, beautiful, powerful, but above all, she was something else.

 

So, the voice in his head interrupts his thoughts, what is your answer?

 

"Brilliant," he says. "Fucking brilliant."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone's like OMG THIS IS SO OUT OF CHARACTER FOR ELIZA LOL I am writing this for fun and I think this kind of goofy vengeance upon Alexander by his two exes is both fucking horrifying/hilarious and I hope you think so too (honestly just looking forward to writing the scene where Alex shits his pants). Also Eliza is so often depicted as a faultless cinnamon roll in fanfics but lol gurl is a college student, her boyfriend just cheated on her, like hell yah she is pissed sometimes u just gotta entertain ideas of petty vengeance about the boy who can't get his head out of his ass. honestly moral of the story is do not fucks with Elizabeth Schuyler, she got fire in her and will set fire to u
> 
> I HOPE U ENJOY THANKS FOR READING I LOVE YOU


	8. Rumour Has It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word gets out that there's a new man claiming the affections of a Schuyler on the most public social media platform of all - Twitter. Columbia doesn't hold back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The twitter handles are pretty self-explanatory but if you have any questions on who's who please let me know! I've been busy so this is just a short little fun chapter that conveniently keeps the plot going but there is more to come, don't worry!

**@dolleypaynexo tweeted:** OMG!!! @Eliza_Schuyler congrats on the new boo!

 

**@HunkulesM**

**Replying to @dolleypaynexo:**

EXCUSE ME WHAT

 

**@leedleleedlelee**

**Replying to @dolleypaynexo:**

LMAOOOOO #FuckHam

 

**@HunkulesM**

**Replying to @leedleleedlelee:**

Dude that hashtag is so two weeks ago get over yourself

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** Well well well...

RT: @dolleypaynexo: OMG!!! @Eliza_Schuyler congrats on the new boo!

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** My sincere congratulations to @Eliza_Schuyler who encapsulates the very essence of #FuckHam by leaving his pathetic ass

**@HunkulesM**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

Now that's just cruel

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @HunkulesM:**

Send my condolences to the orphan for me, will you?

 

 **@GilbertduMotier tweeted:** not funny mon ami

RT: @urfavevirginian: Send my condolences to the orphan for me, will you?

**@DearJohn tweeted:** @A_Hamilton geTs hIS wHOrISh tENdeNciEs frOm hIS WhORE mOtHER

 

**@DearAbigail**

**Replying to @DearJohn:**

Now, now, my dearest friend, let's try and be a little kinder with our words, shall we?

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @DearAbigail:**

I don't think he's being hard enough, to be honest Abigail

 

**@DearAbigail**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

Thomas.

**@AndPeggy tweeted:** can someone tell me WHY MY PHONE IS BLOWING UP AND WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** hold the FUCK up

RT: @dolleypaynexo: OMG!!! @Eliza_Schuyler congrats on the new boo!

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** WHAT THE FFUDSFJFAf

RT: @urfavevirginian: My sincere congratulations to @Eliza_Schuyler who encapsulates the very essence of #FuckHam by leaving his pathetic ass

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** @Eliza_Schuyler i feel so betrayed rn ANSWER MY TEXTS HOE

**@nypost tweeted:** Does NYC Socialite @Eliza_Schuyler have a new man? Even sister @AndPeggy is shocked! Follow us for updates!

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** LITERALLY FUCK YOU STOP USING MY FAMILY TO KEEP UP YOUR RELEVANCY

RT: @nypost: Does NYC Socialite @Eliza_Schuyler have a new man? Even sister @AndPeggy is shocked! Follow us for updates!

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @AndPeggy:**

I hope you realize that tabloid scandals are the only thing keeping your family relevant in this city.

 

**@leedleleedlelee**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

OOOOOOOOO BURN

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** hey @leedleleedlelee remember when I made you cry at a party because I punched you after you said girls can't throw real punches

RT: @leedleleedlelee: OOOOOOOOO BURN

 

**@GilbertduMotier**

**Replying to @AndPeggy:**

if he needs a reminder our friend @HunkulesM has video evidence

 

 **@HunkulesM tweeted:** peggykillscharleslee.m4v

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @HunkulesM:**

I have to admit this is pretty sad to watch @leedleleedlelee

 

**@KittyLvngstn**

**Replying to @HunkulesM:**

OMG! I remember this! @dolleypaynexo @liz_kortright @betsygriscom

 

**@dolleypaynexo**

**Replying to @KittyLvngstn:**

wasn't this in our house? OMG delete this our sorority can't get suspended again

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** oh and @urfavevirginian i'm coming for you next

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @AndPeggy**

I am quaking in my boots.

 

 **@JMonroe tweeted:** woah really? Peggy's not that scary

RT: @urfavevirginian: I am quaking in my boots.

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @JMonroe:**

It's called SARCASM, you neophyte UGH

 

**@JMonroe**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

also there's no more toilet paper in the upstairs bathroom can u bring me some

 

 **@James_Madison tweeted:** I can @JMonroe

 

**@JMonroe**

**Replying to @James_Madison:**

ur the man!!!

 

 **@dolleypaynexo tweeted:** wow ok so you can tweet your housemate but not reply to my text?

RT: @James_Madison: I can @JMonroe

 

**@JMonroe**

**Replying to @dolleypaynexo:**

what

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @dolleypaynexo:**

Whaaaaaaaaaaat

 

**@AaronBurr**

**Replying to @dolleypaynexo:**

I called it. You both owe me ten bucks @urfavevirginian @JMonroe

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** sorry to interrupt your sausage fest but would anyone CARE TO TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH MY SISTER

 

 **@nypost tweeted:** Yikes! Schuyler Sister @AndPeggy is blowing up on Twitter! Click here to see the biggest celebrity meltdowns ever!

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** I will actually kill you.

RT: @nypost: Yikes! Schuyler Sister @AndPeggy is blowing up on Twitter! Click here to see the biggest celebrity meltdowns ever!

 

**@AaronBurr**

**Replying to @nypost:**

Chill.

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @nypost:**

Reporting this for factual inaccuracy. The Schuyler Family is nowhere near celebrity status. #Irrelevant

 

**@AndPeggy**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

I WILL KILL YOU TOO

 

 **@GWash tweeted:** For those of you involved in student government tweeting about this senseless debacle, your president advises you to stop. Thank you.

 

 **@AndPeggy tweeted:** u heard the boss man @urfavevirginian

RT: @GWash: For those of you involved in student government tweeting about this senseless debacle, your president advises you to stop. Thank you.

 

**@GilbertduMotier**

**Replying to @GWash:**

il est vivant!

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** @GWash with all due respect Mr. President we can't stop now. Something is missing

 

**@HunkulesM**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

My dude the only thing missing is your HEART

 

 **@SchuylerAngelica tweeted:** What. The. Fuck.

RT: @dolleypaynexo: OMG!!! @Eliza_Schuyler congrats on the new boo!

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** Ah. THAT'S what was missing

RT: @SchuylerAngelica: What. The. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you're wondering: How does Dolley know? Like I said, more to come. Also, I loved writing Peggy and Jefferson in this.


	9. Honesty is the Best Policy (Sometimes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelica confronts Eliza about her new mysterious boyfriend. As usual, it escalates into chaos.

Eliza is hunched over her desk, reading the latest headline on OK! Magazine's website (Schuyler Heiress Linked to New Mystery Man!) when there is a knock on her door. "Coming!" She calls out cheerily, but her smile stiffens when the door swings back to reveal Angelica, who waltzes into the room and plops herself onto the bed unceremoniously, holding two coffees above her head. "One chai tea latte with vanilla for you," Angelica reads, "And one triple espresso macchiato for me." She holds the chai tea latte out to Eliza. "I bought these because we're going to be here for a while. You have a _lot_ of explaining to do."

 

"Explaining?" Eliza sputters into nervous laughter. "What do you mean?" Angelica stares her down as she takes a long sip of her coffee. "I mean I would like you to explain why everyone on the Internet knows that you have a new boyfriend but _I_ don't," Angelica says, "And what exactly you think you're going to achieve by doing this."

 

Eliza chokes on her drink. "This?" She repeats innocently, and Angelica smirks into her cup. "Eliza," she sighs. "I know exactly what you're doing, and to be honest, I'm very impressed. I didn't think you had it in you to fake a boyfriend like Peggy did that one time —" Eliza slams her cup onto her desk. "I am not!" Angelica smiles sympathetically and for some reason it makes Eliza's blood boil. "Come on, Eliza," Angelica says gently, reaching out to rest her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Be honest. Did you make this up?"

\---

 

Has Eliza ever lied to her sisters? Never. Maybe once or twice, when they were younger, but only about trivial matters, such as whose turn it was to clean the dishes that day or pretending to be sick to miss a birthday party she didn't want to go to. But it was her honesty that defined her character. It was her honesty, additionally, that won her Alexander Hamilton.

 

"He's mine."

 

It's December 20, 2013. Eliza is clutching Angelica's wrist, her black eyes blazing with a quiet but firm desperation Angelica's never seen in her before. The rest of the ballroom fades away in that moment, and without any hesitation Angelica says, "Of course." She squeezes her sister's hand before she turns to push her way through the dance floor, scanning the room for an odd young man whose hair is pulled back into a tidy little ponytail until she eventually finds him by the bar, downing a generous serving of champagne.

 

Alexander Hamilton jumps at the touch of a finger tapping his shoulder, but he relaxes when he sees who it is, and the corners of his mouth lift upward into a devilish grin. "Angelica Schuyler," he slurs, his face flushed pink, and Angelica realizes that he's drunk and wrinkles her nose in disdain. "Are you here to finish what we started?" She considers either turning straight back around and never speaking to him again or grabbing his hand and running out of the venue with him into the sunset, but then she catches a glimpse of Eliza standing in the corner of the room, wringing her hands and looking lost, so she squares her shoulders and holds out her hand. "Come with me," she says, and it is more of a command than a suggestion.

 

"Where are you taking me?" Alexander asks as he follows Angelica back through the dance floor. "I'm about to change your life," she purred, and Alexander's grip on her arm tightens. "Then by all means, lead the way!"

 

Angelica notices that as they approach Eliza, Alexander's posture straightens, his drunken composure dwindling as his eyes widen at the sight of her younger sister, standing before him with her hands folded and her eyes shining, the skirt of her dress billowing around her like some 18th century aristocratic angel. "Elizabeth Schuyler," Eliza says, stepping forwards before Angelica can introduce her to Alexander, whose eyes are no longer on Angelica. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Alexander looks back at Angelica, one eyebrow raised. "Schuyler?" Angelica smiles with a closed mouth. "My sister," she explains, and his eyes light up.

 

"Thank you for all your help with this terrible campaign," Eliza gushes. "My father is so grateful." Alexander lowers his eyes and shrugs, but is still wearing that shit-eating grin that Angelica is slowly starting to resent. "Hey, if it takes fighting a media war for us to meet, it will have been worth it." He presses a kiss to Eliza's hand. And just like that, it's over for Angelica Schuyler. "I'll leave you to it," she laughed, and steps backwards so she can disappear into the crowd. And the rest, as they say, was history. Eliza Schuyler saw what she wanted, and she got it.

 

\---

 

But what would honesty get Eliza this time? Logically, she knew that Angelica would understand, and that it would probably be wiser to give up the game now rather than have someone uncover the truth later and publicly humiliate her. But she was also annoyed at the fact that her older sister had her figured out so quickly, along with the slight implication that Angelica didn't think Eliza could find another boyfriend so easily. The truth was, in all honesty, Eliza Schuyler just wanted some good old-fashioned revenge. And she was going to get it.

 

"No," Eliza says firmly. "I didn't. I do have a boyfriend, and frankly, I'm a little insulted that you think I don't." Angelica raises her eyebrows in surprise, clearly taken aback. "Eliza, I'm not asking because I don't think you can get a boyfriend," Angelica explains. "It just seems a little too..." She pauses, searching for the right word. "Convenient? I mean, come on, the Reynolds thing happened only three weeks ago, and you're magically dating a new mystery man?" Eliza chews on her bottom lip, suddenly looking anxious, before steeling herself. "I am not lying."

 

Angelica's lips part in surprise. "O-okay," she stuttered. "I'm sorry for doubting you, Eliza. I just want you to be happy. Truce?" Eliza nods, and the sisters embrace.

 

"So," Angelica whispers into Eliza's ear, still holding her sister close to her. "The Schuyler Gala is coming up soon. Mommy and Daddy are dying to meet your new boyfriend, and frankly, so am I." This time it's Eliza whose mouth opens in shock. "What is it?" Angelica asks, pulling back. "He's coming, right?"

 

Eliza narrows her eyes, and smiles through gritted teeth. "He wouldn't miss it for the world," she says coolly. Angelica beams. "Perfect," she exclaims, and rolls off the bed, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I can't wait. What's his name, by the way?"

 

"It's John," Eliza answers without any hesitation. Angelica purses her lips. "John, huh? Well," she says, opening the door, "Give John my regards."

 

As soon as the door slams shut behind her Eliza scrambles for her phone, dialing a number. "Hello?" John answers sleepily. "It's one in the morning here–" Eliza cuts him off. "Can you come here?" She asks. There is a long pause on the other end of the line. "Like, right now?" Eliza smacks a hand to her forehead. "No, not now. Listen; if I buy you a plane ticket to New York City for next weekend, will you come? Actually, no, listen to me; you have to come to New York City next weekend. No ifs, ands, or buts. Pack a tuxedo, if you've got one. If you don't, don't worry, I'll buy you one. That's all for now, go back to sleep. Thanks." She hangs up before he can have any chance to protest, and takes a shaky breath, before falling onto her bed.

 

John, who is now sitting upright in his own bed, exhales loudly. "Jesus Christ," he remarks out loud to himself. "I'm really out in it now, aren't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, just because I was originally going to make it longer but I thought it stood better on its own. I know that Eliza and Angelica are supposed to be the model sibling relationship, and they would do anything for each other, of course, but what is a real sibling relationship without a little friendly rivalry or tension sometimes? Don't get me wrong, Angelica still loves Eliza to death, and vice versa. But Angelica isn't dumb. She knows what's up. But we can't underestimate Eliza either. There is so much shade in this chapter lmao. Hope you enjoyed!


	10. The Hashtags Are Getting Out of Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron Burr turns to a surprising source for help with his baby mama woes. Alexander keeps refusing to throw away his shot in situations where he probably is better off throwing them away.

Although all of Columbia is invested in the drama of Eliza Schuyler's new mystery boyfriend in what might be the pettiest breakup of all time, Aaron Burr can't bring himself to give a single shit. He's having an illicit affair with Theodosia Bartow Prevost, wife of Marcus Prevost, one of the most influential names in international business and closely associated with King Corporations, which is infamous for privatizing expensive resources in developing countries, and on top of that, Theodosia is pregnant — with Aaron's baby.

 

So it comes as no wonder that the Reynolds Affair is the last thing Aaron Burr is concerned about. He's in deeper shit than Alexander Hamilton could have ever imagined — hell, he'd _gladly_ take Alexander's place right now if he could. Alexander, by the way, is the only one who Aaron has entrusted with his secret in a reckless act of spontaneity that he now regrets but cannot take back. He's considered asking his former roommate for advice, but when news broke of Eliza's new boyfriend, Aaron knew that Alexander had his own matters to handle.

 

So who else can Aaron turn to? Thomas is a definite, hard no; Aaron might be living in the same house as him, but Jefferson has as big of a mouth as Hamilton. Dolley is another obvious no, despite considering her one of his closest (and only) friends, because there is nothing that makes Dolley Payne talk more than scandalous gossip (Burr has taken to calling her Columbia's own Helen of Troy, given her ability to divide the student body with the most trivial of gossip). He doesn't even consider James Monroe, because, well, the kid's a dumbass, bless him.

 

Eventually, he's left with the most unlikely but sensible of candidates: James Madison. He's not sure how Jemmy will take the news; Aaron worries that his friend might go into anaphylactic shock because of the impropriety of it all, but he doesn't know how much longer he can go on without sharing his burden with someone else.

 

So James meets Aaron at a seedy little bagel shop, with a neon sign that boasts the BEST COFFEE IN NYC. The sign, of course, like many other things in the city is a bold exaggeration, but the coffee is cheap, decent, and served hot, and the store is unknown to most Columbia students, so Aaron doesn't have to worry about running into familiar faces. He waves James over to a cramped little booth in the corner of the shop.

 

"Hey!" Aaron greets his friend, ever the gentle giant, with a friendly pat on the back, knowing that James isn't comfortable with hugging except on the rarest of occasions. "Thanks for coming."

 

James unwraps his scarf and shrugs his coat off before sliding into the booth across from Aaron. "Of course," he says quietly, and goes straight to the point. "What do you need help with?" His voice, like always, is cool and professional, and Aaron feels like he's at a tutoring session more so than a confessional.

 

"Oh, well," Aaron squirms uncomfortably in his seat, playing with a packet of sugar, "It's a long story, _really_ long, actually." He laughs nervously. "Um. Shit." James tilts his head in question. "Don't tell me," he says suddenly, remaining professional as ever. "It's about your affair, isn't it?"

 

The sugar packet in Aaron's hand bursts, and sugar explodes all across the table. James uses his napkin to sweep the sugar crystals off the table, while Aaron continues to gape at his friend, at an obvious loss for words. "H-How did you know?" Aaron manages to ask.

 

James takes a long sip of coffee. "It's pretty obvious. You never spend the night at home on Fridays and Saturdays," he explains, setting the coffee mug down. "You take your toothbrush with you when you go, because it's missing in the cup next to mine. You leave your car home when you go over there and Uber instead, which is how I know it's an affair, because you don't want people to know where you are." He shrugs. "That, and you're also happier," he adds. "Everyone knows that sex makes you happier."

 

"Yeah, right, like you know about that," Aaron mutters, his face burning, and James shocks him by cracking a small, even sly, smile. "Oh my God," Aaron gasps. "Are you and Dolley...?" James instantly reddens and raises a hand his to lips, which is his way of basically saying _Shut the fuck up_. "I didn't come here to talk about me," James says coolly. "You asked me here to talk about you, didn't you?"

 

"Right," Aaron grunts, shaking his head to clear his senses, as well as the images of Dolley and James now flashing in his mind. "Did you — Did you tell anybody?" James furrows his brow. "Of course not. It isn't anyone's business but yours. I'm tired of seeing all these people's private matters being publicized everywhere." That, and he also still feels guilty about his involvement in the Reynolds Scandal, a detail left unspoken but mutually understood. Aaron sighs in relief, and relaxes in his seat, turning his face towards the ceiling, his eyes closed. "Oh, thank God."

 

"Well, you still didn't tell me what the problem was," James replies. "I mean, unless you just called me here so you could tell me you were having an affair." Aaron's eyes open, his stomach twisting. "She's — She's pregnant," he murmurs, his voice barely even a whisper.

 

 _Now_ James finally reacts, his eyes widening and his mouth opening slightly. "Oh," he breathes, struggling to remain calm. "Oh, I see."

 

Aaron can't help smile at the ridiculousness of it all. Here he is, confiding to James Madison about his pregnant mistress, as if they were starring in a goddamn telenovela. He almost expects a symphony orchestra to start accompanying the scene with dramatic music, but is greeted with nothing but the silence of the near empty bagel shop, the rest of the world waiting outside its doors.

 

"Did she tell you?" Aaron shakes his head once. "Does she know that you know?" Twice. "Have you talked to her about it?" Thrice. James leans back in his seat, frowning. "There's your problem," he says decidedly. "You have to talk to her, Aaron. There's just no going around it."

 

It's just what Aaron thought he would say, and he tries to look appreciative, but he can't help but shake his head a fourth time. "I – I can't. I am scared shitless, James," he confesses.

 

"Welcome to my life," James retorts with a completely straight face, staring Aaron down. "I have been afraid of everything my entire life. It's taken me over twenty years to learn that the only way to fight your fears is by diving into them head on, rather than avoiding them. Life is too short and time is precious, Aaron. Do you love her?"

 

Aaron finally nods resolutely. "Then stop waiting. Talk to her," James says quite forcefully, and rises from his seat, pulling his coat back on. "I have to meet Dolley for lunch," he adds, sounding a little apologetic. "I'll see you back at the house." In a rare display of affection, James reaches out to squeeze Aaron's shoulder, before walking out of the shop, the door swinging behind him.

 

\---

 

Alexander found out via Twitter. He shattered his phone screen because he hurled his phone across the room before he could even finish Jefferson's tweet, out of anger. It was more than a slap to the face—it was like Eliza took a blowtorch to his face.

 

Here's the thing: Eliza could (and, by popular opinion, _should_ ) have dumped Alexander the second his inflammatory article came hot off the press, and he would have understood. What he can't bring himself to begin to understand right now is the thought of Eliza moving on this quickly, and more importantly, who even dared to step forwards and fill in Alexander's shoes.

 

Because, yeah, Alexander did cheat on Eliza, did announce it to the entire school and publicly humiliate her, could be a little insensitive and inattentive, probably forgot their anniversary at least once, but he thought he was a pretty damn good boyfriend, if he does say so himself. John may have been his first romance, but Eliza was his first relationship. He did things for her that he normally wouldn't just to see her face light up with a smile, things as small as ordering honey chicken, her favorite, instead of his preferred Kung Pao chicken to bigger things like shaving off his iconic goatee before he met the esteemed Philip and Catherine Schuyler, which, to anyone who knows him well, is a clear declaration of love.

 

He loved her, she loved him, and it was perfect. The thought of losing her to another man shatters his dream of perfection, as he is forced to humbly realize, that he may not be, in fact, as perfect for her as he believed he is.

 

But that's what denial, or as Alexander calls it: perseverance is for right?

 

He allows himself three days of moping and self-loathing before he throws Columbia University another curveball by emerging from his room the same cloudy Sunday morning James Madison goes to meet Aaron Burr, with freshly washed hair and laundered clothes, and a bouquet of slightly wilted roses from the grocery store in his hand. Ignoring the scrutinizing stares and opens mouths gaping after him as he walks across campus, he can't stop himself from smiling smugly when he rounds a tight corner and comes face to face with James Monroe and Thomas Jefferson, who stare at him no differently than they would look at a cockroach.

 

Thomas is the first to strike, like the venomous snake he's always been. "Nice flowers," he drawls in his trademark Southern accent, "Are they for Maria?" Alexander steels himself to not flinch at Thomas's dig, smiling coolly instead. "Actually, they're for my girlfriend," he shoots back, and Monroe's eyes widen but Thomas only sneers. "Eliza? You know she has a new boyfriend, right?"

 

Alexander makes sure to bump into Thomas as he brushes by him. "Just you wait," he says over his shoulder. "You're delusional, Hamilton!" Thomas calls back, and Alexander flips him off.

 

He knows where to find Eliza. She's been going to the homeless shelter to volunteer every Sunday morning after church with her family, and he's been meeting her every Sunday afternoon when her shift is over so he can walk her home. It's always personally chilling for him, because it makes him imagine a world where he didn't get so lucky with his own life. The same old lady like always is manning the front desk, and doesn't bat an eye at Alexander when he dramatically bursts through the door, crying out, "Eliza!"

 

The old woman looks up from the gossip magazine in her hands, smacks her gum in between her lips and throws her thumb back over her shoulder. "She's in the kitchen," she states, both looking and sounding entirely unimpressed by his entrance, and he reddens. "Thank you, ma'am."

 

He tries again, this time dramatically pushing the swing doors of the kitchen open. "Eliza!" There are at least ten people working in the kitchen, but he singles out Eliza immediately, mid-wiping her brow of sweat and managing to look cute and ridiculous but mostly cute in a hairnet. She freezes and her dark eyes meet his own. "Eliza," he repeats, and now she's pushing her way towards him and he opens his arms for the embrace that he's expecting but instead she grabs his arm roughly and yanks him towards the supply closet, slamming the door shut behind them.

 

"What are you doing?" She hisses. Her eyes follow Alexander's gaze on her hairnet so she pulls it off, and her dark hair tumbles down her shoulders. Alexander reaches out to stroke a strand of her hair but she smacks his hand away. "Well?" She demands, and eyes the flowers in his hand warily. " _Well?_ "

 

 

"Eliza, I can't even put into words how much I regret what I did," Alexander begins, and he pushes on despite her more than audible groan and the way she folds her arms impatiently. "I really do. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life, and I could probably spend the rest of my life apologizing to you and it still wouldn't be enough."

 

"No, it wouldn't," Eliza agrees, staring him down. "Yeah," Alexander continues, but he forgets the rest of the speech he's so carefully put together and prepared for this moment because the way Eliza is glaring at him is making him so damn _nervous,_ until finally he thinks to himself _Fuck it,_ "You're so right, Eliza. You've always been right. You've always been smarter than I am."

 

She raises a hand to stop him. "No," she says sternly. "I'm not. You know very well that you're smarter than anyone you know. You're only saying this because you know it's what I want to hear." Her eyes are lowered as she speaks, trying not to betray her cold exterior with the raw emotion that's starting to make her voice break, and she knows if she looks into his eyes again it's over.

 

In a very rash but bold decision Alexander simply responds with a smooth, "Let me give you what you want," and before he can finish his sentence Eliza's mouth is sighing into his and her fingers are curling into his hair and he holds her as best he can in the cramped closet, awkwardly knocking cardboard boxes over as he pushes her against a shelf and she tastes like vanilla and he is elated, so elated until he hears Eliza gasp into his mouth and her hands press against his chest and he realizes that she's pushing him off her, so he backs off. Eliza staggers backwards from him, turning to sit on an overturned cardboard box.

 

"I have a boyfriend," she says, avoiding eye contact. "Bullshit," Alexander responds, "Eliza, you know I'm right for you, everyone knows I'm right for y—"

 

"Stop it!" Her voice escalates into a shriek, leaving Alexander stunned. When she looks up again her eyes are glassy with tears, but her expression is furious. "Stop telling me what's right for me and what isn't," she snaps, rising from her seat. "Besides—If you were really right for me, then why are you standing here now, asking for me back?"

 

It's rare to render a man like Alexander Hamilton speechless, but Eliza Schuyler has done it. She takes advantage of the ensuing silence and points a finger at the door. "Get. Out."

 

He leaves the flowers on the shelf, anyways. Eliza tosses all but one of them into the dumpster behind the shelter, and tucks the one she saved into her purse. 

 

\---

 

 **@urfavevirginian tweeted:** Looks like @A_Hamilton has failed yet again in life with a brutal rejection from @Eliza_Schuyler #FuckHam #TeamElizasNewMans

 

**@A_Hamilton**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

at what lengths do you go to in order to stalk me and post embarrassing life updates on the internet?

 

**@A_Hamilton**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

also that second hashtag is long and ugly and has no ring to it no one will ever pick it up

 

 **@JMonroe tweeted:** #TeamElizasNewMan

 

 **@A_Hamilton tweeted:** well no one except morons apparently. u couldn't even spell it right you forgot the 's' at the end @urfavevirginian there's ur first mistake its too long to type out now everyone's gonna be misspelling your hashtag LOSER

RT: @JMonroe: #TeamElizasNewMan

 

\---

 

Aaron has been standing across the street from Theodosia's home for approximately twenty minutes by now, debating whether to cross or to flag down the next cab and go home. He hasn't told her he's coming, which is something he does every time he comes over so he feels like less of an intruder as he enters the home Theodosia shares with her frequently absent, but still existing, husband. He's never shown up uninvited before. Then again, he's also never loved someone before, not like this. Sometimes you just have to be brave, he thinks, and James and Dolley come into mind and he smiles to himself.

 

He does not expect the door to swing open so quickly, almost immediately, after he rings the doorbell. Aaron takes in the sight of Theodosia, dressed head to toe in black, and the large suitcase being lugged behind her, and he freezes, his mouth gone dry. Theodosia removes her sunglasses in order to look him in the eyes.

 

"My husband is dead," she says to Aaron calmly. She smiles, a sad and wistful little smile that she's practicing no doubt, for the weeks to come. It's chilling. "He was found dead in a hotel in Jamaica," she continues, her voice devoid of any emotion, "Doing drugs, no doubt, even though they're trying to make him look like a saint and are blaming it on his heart, but I know." It's the most Aaron has ever heard her speak about her husband, and she doesn't stop there.

 

Her eyes are far away. "We were engaged when we were still in college," she continues. "I was so confident in us. But things change. Looking back on it, I was too young. I blame his job, more than anything else. He used to be good. I believe that he was, until the end. A good man who picked up bad habits." She pauses. "But I never loved him when I loved you."

 

The words send a wave of relief over Aaron, who hasn't forgotten his original purpose of coming here. "I know about the baby," he confesses, because now seems like a good time for them to speak about what was once completely taboo to discuss.

Instinctively, Theodosia's hands float to rest on her stomach, and then she reaches out to take Aaron's hands in her own.

 

"I thought you might," she replies, looking down at her stomach fondly, and Aaron gets butterflies in his stomach as he follows her gaze. "And I promise, we will talk about it soon. But—" A car honks outside. "But right now I have to finish my last duty as Theodosia Bartow Prevost."

 

"I understand." Theodosia squeezes his hands. "Wait," Aaron calls out, and Theodosia pauses in the doorway, her head turning back towards him. "What do you think about Theodosia Bartow Burr?"

 

She cracks her first real smile. "I think it would be a wonderful new beginning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was long overdue bc we haven't heard anything about Burr and his baby mama since chapter 5 like!!! So here u go folks.  
> Also it might seem incredibly convenient that her husband died but like that's what actually happened. It was hard to write because I know nothing about the guy except that he was a British officer which kind of automatically pits him against the Hamilton gang but I don't think that he was a bad guy or anything (because again, I have NO idea) and I mean Theodosia was married to him for a while I don't think she hates him but also like it was very clear in history that she loved Burr long before her actual husband died. It's wild man. Love is wild. S/o to my ex here's to hoping we all find our Aaron Burrs except maybe not through having an extramarital affair
> 
> Also: I made her hint at his death being from drugs bc I wanted it to be like something realistic that a reckless rich businessman would do who thinks he's on top of the world bc that's what King Corporations is all about rather than yellow fever which is what died of irl


	11. The Call(s) You've Been Waiting For Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Laurens receives two unwanted phone calls from two very different people.

John is getting into bed when his phone starts ringing, and he is about to automatically dismiss the call until he sees the name SATAN across the screen and nearly drops his phone, the same way his heart drops into his stomach. After a moment of deliberation, he sighs and picks up the phone. "Yes?"

 

"Son," Henry Laurens answers in a jovial tone, and John already knows why he is calling. "You didn't tell me about your _girl!_ " He pronounces the last word proudly, and John may resent his father for everything he's done for his life—including sending him to London against his will—but even the slightest taste of his father's praise turns him into a little gap-toothed six year old again, hungry for his father's approval. "Oh, uh, yeah," John replies. "That. Tell Martha for me that I specifically told her _not_ to tell anyone about that."

 

"Yes, yes," his father laughs, "Your sister isn't one to trust with secrets right now, you know how they get at that age—" John bites his tongue in self-restraint at his father's slightly misogynistic remark. "—But regardless, I am delighted to hear it. What is her name? Did you meet her at school?"

 

John hesitates. "We, um, we met on the Internet," he says eventually, and he can practically hear his father frowning on the other end, which satisfies him. He refuses to grant his father a completely normal heterosexual relationship. "And her name is Eliza," he adds.

 

"Eliza," Henry Laurens repeats. "I thought you were about to say Eleanora, at first." John feels a pang at the mention of his mother's name, pronounced wistfully by his father. His mother is his father's one redeeming quality. "Is she lovely?"

 

John's mind conjures up a photograph of Eliza he remembered from when he researched (stalked) her on the Internet. It's a candid of her taken after her father just won the election for senator, and she's sandwiched in between her sisters, who are both expressively cheering and clapping and laughing in the shot. Eliza is standing still in between them, her hands clasped in front of her heart. John liked how her happiness could be expressed so simply, subtly, and most of all, earnestly.

 

When John first discovered her existence four years ago, he couldn't bring himself to attach a face to the name. Instead he used his imagination, and created a monstrous and evil and ugly figment of imagination in his mind that he had no trouble despising. Had he known what she really looked like sooner, he never could have hated her.

 

"Yes," John says after a moment's pause. "That she is."

 

"Good, good." John imagines his father is beaming, and he's conflicted. He wonders if he could lie to his father for the rest of his life just to be accepted by him. "Tell the gang I say hi for me, will you?" John thinks of his siblings and his apartment feels even emptier than it already is. "And I miss them, a lot." _But not you,_ he thinks.

 

"Does that mean you're not coming home for the holidays?" John stiffens. "Well, I wasn't invited," he responds dryly, and there is a pregnant pause between them. "I'm actually going to see Eliza this weekend," he adds, and he's disgusted by the pity and the longing he feels for his father but he can't help it. "I can send you a picture of us, if you want."

 

"I'd love to see it, son." _Son._ He hasn't called him that in a long time. It makes John take a sharp intake of breath every time he hears it. "I have to go to bed, Dad."

 

"Good night, John."

 

"Night." He hangs up immediately but the tears are already running down his face.

 

\---

 **John Laurens:** Hey.

 

 **Eliza:** hi!

 

 **Eliza:** isn't it pretty late there?

 

 **John Laurens:** Yeah, can't sleep

 

 **Eliza:** i'm sorry :(

 

 **John Laurens:** Not your fault haha don't apologize

 

 **Eliza:** sorry

 

 **Eliza:** oops hahaha did it again

 

 **Eliza:** my family says I apologize too much it's a habit of mine

 

 **John Laurens:** That's funny. Haha

 

 **Eliza:** everything ok?

 

 **John Laurens:** Yeah. Just feeling lonely

 

 **Eliza:** oh :(

 

 **Eliza:** when i'm lonely I like to call my sisters

 

 **John Laurens:** That's really nice

 

 **Eliza:** do you have siblings?

 

 **John Laurens:** Four of them, all younger

 

 **Eliza:** you should try it and call them sometime!

 

 **John Laurens:** I would, but I'm not allowed to.

 

 **Eliza:** what?

 

 **John Laurens:** Unless they call me first, I can't talk to them. I'm not allowed to.

 

 **Eliza:** should I ask why?

 

 **John Laurens:** Probably not.

 

 **Eliza:** oh

 

 **Eliza:** well

 

 **Eliza:** I can call you!

 

He's mid-typing, "No, it's fine, you really don't have to," when the phone starts ringing once more with the name ELIZA on his screen. "Hello," he sighs, picking up. "Hello," Eliza echoes, her voice bright and airy. "What did you do today?"

 

"What did I do today?" John repeats, surprised. "Yes," Eliza laughs. "We have to talk about _something_. Tell me what you did today."

 

"Hmm." John thinks. "I woke up—" He's interrupted by Eliza, who sarcastically exclaims, " _Really?_ I should hope so!" and it makes him laugh. "I went to class," he continues, still laughing, "I only had two classes today, which is nice. Then I had lunch at my favorite pub and I went to the gym, and then I had dinner, and now I'm talking to you." He intentionally leaves out the phone call with his father.

 

"That does sound like a good day," Eliza muses. "What are you studying?"

 

"Law." There's an awkward pause, and John remembers who shares the same major as him. He quickly asks, "And you?"

 

"Psychology and Social Work," Eliza answers in a singsong voice that makes John suspect that she can actually sing. "I'm still undergrad."

 

"I know," John says, and feels his face flush warm, instantly regretting it. "Oh?" He's certain she's smirking on the other end. "Did you Google me, John?"

 

"I had to," he confesses. "I didn't know your family was so important. No offense."

 

"None taken, son of Henry Laurens." John freezes. "I Googled you too. I didn't know you were his son! Who would have thought, two politicians' kids date—"

 

"Please don't say that name," John says abruptly, cutting her off. "Please."

 

"I'm sorry," Eliza whispers. "Is that—Is that why you can't—?" She doesn't finish the question, but there is a mutual understanding in the silence that falls between them. John doesn't respond.

 

"Oh John," Eliza says. "I'm so sorry." The tears have returned, but he tries to keep them out of his voice as he hoarsely replies, "It's okay."

 

"And your mother?"

 

"Dead." He sniffles.

 

"What was she like?"

 

John recalls a young woman with golden skin and warm eyes that crinkled when she smiled and dark untamed curls. Freckles dotted her cheeks and ran up and down her arms and legs. John was the spitting image of the late Eleanora Beleno Laurens. Maybe that was why his father began to push him away soon after she passed away.

 

"Hijo," Eleanora calls out to him from the hospital bed. Henry is sitting at her side, and doesn't let her sit up to greet her son, who pulls himself away from his nanny's grip and runs to the bed, jumping into his mother's arms. "Be gentle, John," Henry protests, but Eleanora waves her concerned husband off them.

 

"Mamá!" John nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. She rubs his back soothingly. "My son," she sighs. "Mi hermoso hijo."

 

"When are you coming home?" John asks, lifting his head so he can look into his mother's face. Her eyes are sunken in and her face is gaunt, but she is still the most beautiful woman in the world. Eleanora smiles sadly, and looks up at Henry, who crouches by the bed so he can face John.

 

"Son." Henry awkwardly pats his son's shoulder. "There's something your mother and I need to tell you." John immediately senses that something is off, and looks at his mother for answers. Eleanora reaches out to cup her son's face. "Baby, I'm not coming home," she says softly. "I have to go soon. Listen to me, I want you to be strong for your siblings, especially your new baby sister—"

 

"Where are you going?" Eleanora and Henry exchange a pained glance. "Mamá, where are you going? Mamá?" The silence he receives in answer is all he needs to understand what she means. John, being only a child, opens his mouth and begins to scream. "No! No, no, no!"

 

Henry has his arms wrapped around John, trying to pull him off his mother but John clutches the front of her hospital gown, sobbing into her chest. "Come on, John, come on," Henry pleads, and there are now nurses around the bed trying to help him, which only makes John scream louder. "I'm sorry, John."

 

"Don't forget," Eleanora is saying, "Don't forget me, hijo." Henry has John over his shoulders now, while the boy continues to scream and flail in his father's arms, pummeling him. "Let me go! Let me go!" Henry hands him over to the nanny. "Don't let him back inside," he orders her. "Take him to the cafeteria and buy him something to eat."

 

Eleanora Beleno Laurens dies approximately two hours later from the hemorrhage that began after she gave birth to her last child and John Laurens' youngest sister. John and his father don't speak for two days afterwards.

 

John swallows the lump in his throat. "She was perfect," he replies.

 

"I don't know my real parents," Eliza remarked. "They couldn't afford me."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be. I've always seen myself lucky to be alive."

 

"You're a very positive person."

 

"That's what Alex says—" Eliza halts. "How did you meet him?" She asks suddenly, and it is not the transition that John expected, having expected her to change the subject altogether.

 

"We were best friends in high school," John tells her. "He was the new kid, and I'll never forget, he made our history teacher cry on the first day of school because she made the tragic mistake of calling Christopher Columbus a hero." He snorts at the very thought of the memory, but feels wistful as he remembers the small, wiry kid with a big mouth who soon became his best friend.

 

Even Eliza giggles. "I met him at my family's winter gala. I even made my sister introduce me to him because I was so nervous." She sighs dreamily at the memory.

 

"It's not the same gala I'm coming to, is it?"

 

"...It is. Is that a problem?"

 

"Well—" John massages his temple, thinking. "Does that mean he'll be there?"

 

He can hear Eliza sniff in disdain at the thought of it. "I mean, invitations were sent out months in advance. He would have received a formal invitation well before he—you know. So he could technically get in. But if he's smart he'll know he's not actually welcome."

 

"Right." The two sit in silence, thinking the precarious situation over. "Yeah, no," John says, at the exact same time as Eliza asks, "He's definitely going to come, isn't he?"

 

"Definitely," John agrees, and yawns, glancing at his alarm clock. "But we can worry about that when I get there. It's getting kind of late here. I should go to bed."

 

"Of course!"

 

"Thanks for keeping me company," John adds shyly. "You're, um, you're nice."

 

"Wow," Eliza says deadpan. "I've never heard that one before."

 

John cracks a sheepish grin. "You really are, though."

 

"Why thank you, John Laurens."

 

"Eliza Schuyler, it's been a pleasure," he plays along. "Good night, um, my lady?"

 

"My lady?" Eliza snorts. "Do you wear a fedora? Or are we from the eighteenth century?"

 

"Now that'd be impossible to imagine, wouldn't it? The eighteenth century part."

 

"Do you mean to tell me that you wear fedoras?" 

 

"I was planning on wearing one to your fancy gala, actually."

 

"Oh, stop, please stop, the joke has gone too far—" Eliza's voice breaks into a fit of laughter. "Wait. You are joking, right? That almost sounded too ironic to be actually ironic." 

 

It's funny, but after they end their call he peacefully drifts off to sleep. He hasn't slept this well in years, usually tormented by nightmares and dreams of his mother that are crushed when he wakes up. Eliza, on the other hand, digs through her purse until she pulls out Alexander Hamilton's wrinkled rose, and tosses it in the trash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh John, my son. He deserved a chapter centered around him, including his very own tragic backstory. That messy father-son relationship though, am I right? The way I see it, John struggles with his feelings of hatred towards his father, and I tried to portray that as best as I could in the brief phone call between them. Like, he hates him for all the things he's done to make John's life miserable, but there's still some longing to be loved and accepted, because it's his dad, for crying out loud! Mess me up fam. Also Eleanora Beleno is actually historically Eleanor Ball, but I wanted to make her Hispanic for Reasons. I love her. She actually did die giving birth to John's youngest sibling. 
> 
> Aaand the relationship between our two heartbroken vindictive little pseudo lovebirds thickens. Hope u guys enjoyed see u next time on the next episode of How Hard Can Alexander Hamilton Fuck Shit Up


	12. A Winter's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's showtime.

**@nypost tweeted:** BREAKING NEWS: Annual Schuyler Gala SHUT DOWN after reports of a violent altercation between guests and kitchen fire. No comment yet from @SenSchuylerNY. Follow us to stay updated.

 

"This—This is outrageous," a red-faced Philip Schuyler sputters, staring at his phone with bulging eyes. "Those bastards will do anything for media attention!" The wail of a police siren cuts him off, and Catherine Schuyler defensively inches closer to her husband as the chief of NYPD approaches the power couple on the curb of the street.

 

"Senator Schuyler," the chief greets them politely. "Mrs. Schuyler." He surveys the scene and sighs wearily. "I wish that we were meeting in more favorable circumstances, but unfortunately I will have to temporarily detain at least one of you for questioning, as you are the hosts of this event."

 

The Schuylers exchange a long look between them. "I'll go," Catherine offers eventually, constantly protective of her husband, but Philip shakes his head. "No, darling. What kind of a man would I be if I let my own wife be taken in by the police?" He turns back to the police chief and holds his arms out. "Officer, lead the way."

 

"That—That won't be necessary, Senator," the chief stammered awkwardly. "I'm not going to handcuff you—" He's cut off by Catherine, who dramatically steps forward and latches onto her husband's arm. "I'm coming with him," she says decidedly, "Whether you like it or not."

 

The chief merely blinks at them, before looking back at his men. "Uh," he replies. "That's fine? I said that _at least_ one of you had to go—" But the poor man is interrupted once more, this time by a breathless Peggy Schuyler, the skirt of her gown hitched up to her knees, revealing her bare feet. "Margarita," Catherine gasps incredulously, "Where are your shoes?"

 

"I'll go," she says, ignoring her mother's questions. "I can tell you _everything_."

 

"You can?" The policeman eyes her warily, sizing her up. Peggy nods her head vigorously. "Oh yeah," she responds, and the corners of her lips are tugging upwards into a knowing smirk. "Two words: Alexander. Hamilton."

 

 

1 DAY EARLIER

 

John does as he is instructed, and walks out into the terminal wearing sunglasses and a USC baseball cap that he regrets to admit used to belong to his father on his head, dragging his suitcase behind him. He's a little disoriented, by the people and the sounds and the nervousness that makes his body tense up with every step he takes. It's not too late, he thinks, and wonders what would happen if he turned around and booked the soonest flight back to London.

 

But then he sees her in the flesh, nervously rocking back and forth on her heels as she waits, and it is too late. Eliza's face breaks into a wide smile when she spots him, and John returns it with a more reserved version as he walks up to her.

 

"It's you!"

 

"It's me," John laughs. "Hi." Eliza looks around the terminal suspiciously, eyebrows raised above her own sunglasses, which are amusingly large, taking up nearly half of her face, although John realizes that's probably the point.

 

He's about to ask her what she's looking for when she pulls him into a tight embrace, and his body stiffens against hers at the sudden romantic gesture. "You could be a little more enthusiastic," Eliza suggests, and John complies, wrapping his arms around her awkwardly. When he looks down he sees that her head barely reaches his chest, so when she goes to whisper in his ear she has to stand on her tiptoes. "They're here," she whispers, "Just follow me and act natural."

 

"Who?" John blurts out, and he can see Eliza roll her eyes in exasperation even behind her black shades. "You know. The cameras," she answers, keeping her voice low. "Now kiss me."

 

 _Now kiss me._ John freezes, his lips parted to respond but the words are not there. "John?" Eliza's voice pulls him abruptly back into reality, as she tugs on his sleeve. "We don't have to, if you're uncomfortable with it. We can just go—"

 

"No, it's fine," John replies shakily, and presses a very brief and light peck on her lips, which are softer than he's used to. She smells like freshly baked goods. "Was that good?"

 

"Good?" Eliza repeats, giggling. "Are you asking me for _feedback_?" John reddens. "I guess I am," he responds, "I mean, like, do you think it was convincing?"

 

"Sure," Eliza reassures him hastily, reaching for his hand. They start walking out of the terminal together, and John can feel the paparazzi's eyes hungrily following him. "Don't worry so much. The more you worry, the less real it will seem. We're friends, aren't we?"

 

 _Are we?_ John wonders, but the warmth of her hand in his puts a stop to his thoughts. He wouldn't be here if he didn't care, right? "Right," he says aloud. "I mean yes. Yes we are." Eliza takes of her sunglasses, squinting as she looks up into his face. "Right," she agrees, a faint smile on her lips. "When it comes down to it, there's hardly a difference between friends and lovers."

 

 _Hardly a difference_ , John muses her newly imparted wisdom over in his head.

 

\---

 

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Miss Schuyler, but we just want to hear about what happened _tonight_ at the gala, not two days ago—"

 

Peggy raises an open palm and shuts it, as a motion of silencing her confused questioners sitting across from her. "You need the full story to understand what went down tonight," she says matter-of-factly, reaching across the table to take a doughnut from the platter. "Otherwise none of it will make sense," she says in between bites of her doughnut, her mouth full. "Trust me, officer."

 

The chief closes his eyes and sighs, massaging his temple. "Alright. Continue."

 

"May I have more coffee, please?" Peggy holds out her empty cup. "It's gonna be a long night."

 

1 DAY EARLIER

 

Lafayette bursts through the door to his dorm and sees just what expected to find: Hercules Mulligan tailoring a tuxedo, and sitting at his side, a resolute-looking Alexander Hamilton. He points an accusatory finger at the latter. "You!" Lafayette clicks his tongue. "You are _not_ going to do what it is that I think you are doing."

 

"What are you talking about?" Alexander asks innocently, but there's a fiery gleam in his eyes that gives him away. Lafayette turns his stony gaze to Hercules, who is pretending to be too actively involved in his sewing to look up, and obviously giving himself away too.

 

"You are going to go to the gala," Lafayette says, crossing his arms. "To win Eliza back. They will kick you out the moment they see you!"

 

Alexander reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope, waving it in the air triumphantly. "No they won't," he retorts. "Not when I have my own personalized invitation." He pulls a shiny gold card out of the envelope and flips it over. "Alexander," he reads aloud, "As always, we look forward to seeing you at this year's winter celebration. With love, Philip and Catherine."

 

"That was before they discovered you cheated on their daughter," Lafayette shoots back pointedly, and Alexander glares at him. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know it is true."

 

Hercules pulls a sewing pin out of his mouth and breaks his silence. "Her new boyfriend's in town," he reveals, and there's a trace of guilt in his voice that makes it sound like he's been hiding this information for some while. Alexander falls off the bed. "You're telling me this just _now_?" He cries out from the floor.

 

"I mean, TMZ just posted the photos a couple of hours ago—" Hercules starts, but Alexander yelps like a dog in pain, cutting him off. "There are _photos_?" The tone of his voice is almost murderous. "What the _fu_ —Show me, Hercules."

 

The three of them gather around Hercules' laptop. NEW BOO ALERT, the headline of the gossip article reads, with the subtitle, NYC Heiress Eliza Schuyler Cozies Up to New Man in JFK Airport. Alexander audibly gags.

 

The pictures themselves don't satisfy any of their curiosities. They're all just blurry pictures of two people hugging, their faces obscured by their sunglasses and hats, and Alexander could almost convince himself these aren't pictures of Eliza if it weren't for the vintage KING'S COLLEGE shirt underneath her coat that used to be his own. Ouch. And the guy? Well, he can't see his face very well, but Alexander can't deny that his body looks pretty fucking great.

 

"Well," Alexander sighs in defeat. "Shit. He's hot."

 

"They're both pre-tty hot," Hercules agrees dreamily, zooming in on the couple's faces, and Lafayette swats his arm. "I mean, gross! Totally gross."

 

"I'm still going," Alexander decides, pushing himself away from the desk. "I can count on you guys to back me up, right?" He looks at his friends expectantly, his head tilted to one side. "Right?"

 

"Hell yeah." Hercules is the first to respond, and holds a fist out for Alexander to bump. "Always, man." Alexander then looks at Lafayette, waiting.

 

What would Adrienne think? Lafayette wonders. His beloved fulfills every Parisian stereotype, including her insatiable obsession with love. "I love love," is what she likes to say, and Gilbert can imagine her gap-toothed smile as she says it. "There is not a more redeeming quality to a person than their ability to love."

 

"Fine," Lafayette finally agrees. "I will help you." Alexander beams.

 

"You guys are the best. This guy's not ready for what's gonna hit him."

 

\---

 

"But the 'guy' he's talking about is John Laurens, Alexander's gay ex-lover," Peggy explains excitedly to the policemen, gesturing theatrically with her hands, "Which makes it super ironic, cause like, _you know_."

 

The chief glances at his watch tiredly. "Miss Schuyler, I understand that the backstory is very interesting, but if you could _please_ just tell us what happened tonight—"

 

"I'm just getting to the good part!" Peggy promises him. She eyes the platter of doughnuts, abandoning her self-restraint as she reaches for her fourth one. "The sugar keeps me awake," she tells the policemen, who nod their heads sleepily. "So, anyways, back to the story..."

 

1 DAY EARLIER

 

John is just trying to enjoy his dinner, but he finds this largely impossible as long as Eliza's sisters continue to stare him down from across the dining table. The older one is giving him a particularly threatening look, and when their eyes meet she aggressively stabs a brussel sprout with her fork, without breaking eye contact. John flinches.

 

Philip Schuyler clears his throat. "So Eliza tells me you're from South Carolina," he says, addressing John. "Forgive me for asking but you're not..."

 

"Congressman Henry Laurens' son, am I?" John finishes his sentence for him, his voice gone flat. "I am." _Unfortunately,_ he thinks scornfully. To his right, he can feel Eliza giving him a sympathetic look. Even the sisters have lowered their guard, now watching him curiously.

 

"I apologize for my nosy old husband," Catherine butts in, breaking the awkward silence and smiling graciously at John. "I'm sure you must get that question quite often." Philip nods his head in agreement with his wife's words. "My apologies."

 

"It's alright," John replies with a forced smile, and returns to picking at his meal absentmindedly. Across from him, the younger sister bounces in her seat, clearly wanting to say something. "Eliza," she pipes up. "We should give John a tour of Columbia! Have you ever been to Columbia?" She asks, turning to John.

 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Eliza says hastily, before John can answer Peggy's question. "I mean, John just flew all the way from London, he's exhausted — You're exhausted, aren't you John?"

 

John opens his mouth to answer, but this time the older sister speaks before he can even try to say something. "Peggy, I'm sure Eliza has her own plans for tonight," she says with a cool smile on her face. "This is her boyfriend, after all." There's something about the way she pronounces 'boyfriend' that sounds highly accusing.

 

Eliza bristles in her seat. "As a matter of fact, I do," she snaps. She scoots her seat backwards and rises from the table. "We have a date."

 

"We do?" She looks like she's ready to kill him. "I mean, yes, we do!"

 

Once they're out of the house, the two of them gasp in the cold air like they've been holding their breath for the last few hours. "Your sisters are terrifying," John tells Eliza, who ducks her head in embarrassment and laughs. "Especially the older one."

 

"They are," Eliza agrees, slipping one hand out of her coat pocket to take the arm John is offering her as they walk down the icy street. "It'll take some time for Angelica to warm up to you." She hesitates, biting down on her lip. "I think she's onto us, to be honest," she confesses. "She didn't even think you were a real person at first."

 

"Oh." Shit. That explains the palpable tension during dinner. Eliza lowers her head and sighs, her shoulders slackening. "This is a lot harder than I thought," she admits. "Not because I don't like you — I mean, I do like you, not like _like_ , but you're really nice and you've got that all-American good boy thing going on that my parents are obsessed with—"

 

"I know what you mean," John says. "You're exactly the kind of person my dad wants me to date." Although he'd probably be satisfied even if John dated the worst person on the earth, as long as they were a woman.

 

"Isn't that funny?" Eliza looks up at John, her head cocked to one side as she examines his face thoughtfully. "We're technically perfect for each other."

 

"Maybe we are, in some other world," John muses. He imagines the two of them in the front of a church — him in black, Eliza shining in white — receiving thunderous applause from their hundreds of onlookers, including an elated Henry Laurens and a healthy Eleanora in the front pew. Then they'd go home and have heterosexual sex and have at least three babies, go in debt trying to send all of them to Ivy League colleges, then retire somewhere with an ocean view until they die, having fulfilled their biological destinies and the American dream. "My life would be so easy," he thinks out loud.

 

Eliza rests her head against his shoulder. "Yes, but then it would not be your life." What is it with Eliza Schuyler and pensive one-liners?

 

They slow down in front of a building with a hanging sign that reads COLONIAL TAVERN. John can hear glasses clinking and people's laughter from inside, bustling with lively music and activity. He looks down at Eliza amusedly. "You're taking me to a bar for our first date?"

 

"It says tavern, dummy." Eliza sticks her tongue out at him. "But yes, this is our stop. I thought you could use a drink after today."

 

8 BEERS LATER (5 John, 3 Eliza)

 

"We are drunk." It's not question, but a statement. It also comes out of Eliza's mouth sounding more like _Weh ah trunk_ as John makes the discovery that she's a lightweight — not even — a featherweight, if that's a thing? He would express more concern for her if not for the fact that he's starting to feel buzzed as well.

 

"We are," John laughs, raising his glass. "Cheers to that."

 

"Here's to us," Eliza says, sloshing her drink everywhere as she lifts it up. "Oh, oopsie daisie!" They're both laughing now. "Maybe we should go," Eliza suggests, slapping a generous tip onto the counter, and John grabs her by the waist so she doesn't fall over as she slips off her seat. "Are you ready to go?"

 

"Maybe we should call a cab," John offers as they stagger outdoors, but Eliza shakes her head vehemently. "I'm fine!" She insists stubbornly, but John keeps an arm around her waist as they shuffle down the empty street. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm — Shit! We are not fine—" She cries out, as they both stumble and start crashing towards the ground.

 

John instinctively twists his body around so that he's the only one whose back hits the ground with a smack, Eliza landing onto his chest instead. She looks down at him incredulously, her cheeks flushed, although one could argue that may only be from the alcohol.

 

"That was hot," she says, after a brief pause. "Do you want to make out on the ground?"

 

"Yes."

 

\---

 

The police officers are staring at Peggy blankly. "But," one of the officers finally asks slowly, "Isn't he gay?"

 

Peggy slams her fist on the table, startling them. "Gay men can kiss women! He's not kissing her v—" She promptly shuts her mouth as she realizes what she's about to say, and folds her hands primly in front of her. "Also, it is 2017 and no one is confined to one sexuality for the remainder of their lives," she adds calmly. "Any more questions?"

 

Crickets chirp. Peggy smiles sweetly. "Good. As I was saying—"

 

10 HOURS EARLIER

 **A. Burr:** I miss you

 

 **Theo:** I miss you too. Anything exciting?

 

 **A. Burr:** Oh, nothing, just the annual Schuyler Gala tonight where New York's most elite gets fucking trashed

 

 **Theo:** Are you going?

 

 **A. Burr:** Haven't decided yet but I probably should for networking

 

 **A. Burr:** I'm worried my ex-roommate is going to show up though

 

 **Theo:** The one who cheated?

 

 **A. Burr:** Yes

 

 **A. Burr:** His girlfriend is also Philip Schuyler's daughter

 

 **Theo:** Oh no.

 

 **Theo:** And you're worried he's going to show up?

 

 **A. Burr:** He doesn't give up easily

 

 **Theo:** Wow...

 

 **Theo:** That's kind of admirable, actually.

 

 **A. Burr:** Admirable or idiotic?

 

 **Theo:** It's admirable that he's willing to do something so idiotic for the woman he loves.

 

 **A. Burr:** Sounds like someone else I know

 

 **Theo:** It does indeed.

 

 **Theo:** I have to go, the lawyer is here.

 

 **Theo:** ILY, is that what the kids are saying now?

 

 **A. Burr:** What the hell

 

7 HOURS EARLIER

Group Message: SQUAD

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** GUESS WHO JUST SCORED A LAST MINUTE CATERING JOB AT THE GALA TONIGHT

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** I'LL GIVE YOU A HINT

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** IT'S ME

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** that was not a hint you just gave away the answer

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** why did you do that???

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** dude Lafayette already said he'd take you as his plus one

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** ITS NOT EXCITING ENOUGH FOR ME AKA

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** HERCULES MULLIGAN, MASTER OF ESPIONAGE

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** here we go again

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** I OPERATE BETTER BEHIND THE SCENES

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** there is literally nothing for you to spy on everybody knows who you are Hercules

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** I'M UNDERCOVER HAMILTON

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** you have to call him Jean Paul now

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** right now?

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** even though the gala is 7 hours away?

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** I LIKE TO STAY IN CHARACTER

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** also, Jean Paul? lol

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** hey i gave him that name

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** why

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** because he asked me for a name!

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** GENTLEMEN, DUTY CALLS

 

_Lock Up Yo Daughters has exited the group chat_

**Bastard Orphan:** i thought he outgrew the spy phase

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** oh no

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** he has an audition tape for james bond

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** NO

 

 **Fighting Frenchman:** it is his dream we cannot discourage him

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** holy shit

 

6 HOURS EARLIER

 

 **James Madison:** Hello Dolley I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the Schuyler Gala this evening I would greatly appreciate it however if you cannot or do not wish to I will not take it personally wishing you all the best your friend James Madison

 

 **Dolley:** OMG!

 

 **Dolley:** seriously?

 

 **James Madison:** I'm so sorry I'm going to go die now

**Dolley:** i have been waiting for you to ask me for the last week James

 

 **James Madison:** Oh

 

 **Dolley:** yeah LOL

 

4 HOURS EARLIER

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** what did u do?

 

 **Angelica:**?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** mom is like having a freaking conniption upstairs

 

 **Angelica:** Oh I told her I was going to wear the jumpsuit tonight and that she would not be able to convince me otherwise

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** god forbid u wear PANTS to a formal event

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** its not 1776 lol catherine is wildin

 

 **Angelica:** Hey, do you know where Eliza and Josh went?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** u mean John?

 

 **Angelica:** Josh, John, whatever. Did they go out?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** i think so

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** ur so salty omg

 

 **Angelica:** I am not.

 

 **Angelica:** I just don't trust the guy.

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** NO lets be real u don't trust eliza

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** u thought she made this whole thing up

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** and now ur salty bc he's actually real

 

 **Angelica:** Did you really believe her when she first told you?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** lol no of course not

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** but i'm not going to discourage her either if that's how she gets over her ex then who cares

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** but he's real and he's HOT IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF

 

 **Angelica:** Ugh. I feel like a shitty sister now. I'll apologize later.

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** i mean he's no alexander but

 

 **Angelica:** What's that supposed to mean?

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** alexander was spicy. this guy is savory. like he's good and dependable but there's nothing that makes you go damn! besides his face. and his body. and that BUTT

 

 **Angelica:** I think we could all use a little less spicy in our lives.

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** while we're on the topic of spicy though

 

 **Margaritaville aka Peggy:** i've got rumors left and right about him coming tonight

 

 **Angelica:** ARE

 

 **Angelica:** YOU

 

 **Angelica:** SERIOUS

2 HOURS EARLIER

 

Group Message: Monticello

 

 **James Mon-Bro:** yo James I heard about Dolley congrats

**A. Burr:** James Monroe that is the most embarrassing username I have ever seen in my life change it now please

 

 **James Madison:** Thank you James.

 

 **James Madison:** :)

 

 **Tommy J:** This melts my cold dead heart

 

 **Tommy J:** Although this means I no longer have a date because I was banking on taking Dolley if you didn't have the balls to ask her out

 

 **A. Burr:** Don't have one, don't care.

 

 **James Mon-Bro:** hang on i have an idea

 

 **A. Burr:** No.

 

 **Tommy J:** NOPE

 

SHOWTIME

 

 **Eliza:** are you ready?

 

 **John Laurens:** As I'll ever be, I guess

 

 **Eliza:** come downstairs then!

 

John takes a deep breath and allows himself one last lookover in the mirror, adjusting his bowtie with trembling hands. _You did good, kid,_ the voice in his head says, and John feels himself growing with confidence as he admires his reflection. "Not bad," he remarks out loud. "Not bad."

 

Catherine Schuyler is practically ogling him as he descends the staircase, and the rest of the Schuylers' faces affirm that John must have done _something_ right, as he approaches Eliza, who is waiting at the bottom of the steps for him.

 

She's gorgeous. Of course, she has always been exceedingly lovely, but there's something about a quintessential Cinderella makeover where a girl puts on an evening gown and tries harder than usual that can make all the difference.

 

"Wow," they both say in perfect unison, and the Schuylers laugh in the background, although John swears he sees Angelica rolling her eyes out of the corner of his eye. "Come on Eliza," Angelica calls out cheerfully. "Time to go introduce your new boyfriend to every single important person in all of New York City!"

 

John stiffens a little bit at the remark, but Philip starts pushing his family out of the door before an awkward silence can descend on all of them, until he and Eliza are the last ones left standing in the foyer. "You, uh, you look great," John tells her, and Eliza shakes her head but cracks a smile, her cheeks pink. "You ready?"

 

Eliza raises her head to look him squarely in the face. "I'm scared." Her voice is shaky, like she's on the verge of bursting into tears. It catches John by surprise because the Eliza Schuyler he's known for the last 24 hours is impressively composed, and with the exception of that one drunken debacle, has rarely let her emotions get the best of her.

 

Her strength eerily parallels Alexander's own resilience (and stubbornness). John's starting to think he has a type.

 

"Hey." John takes her hand. "Me too. But we're in this together. We're friends, aren't we?" That makes Eliza smile, as she recognizes the question she asked him in the airport. "Yes," she murmurs. "Yes, we are."

 

Outside, a car honks. "Come on, kids! We can't be late!" Philip calls out to them. John leads them both towards the door, Eliza's dress sweeping behind her with a dramatic flourish. "Hardly a difference," John reminds Eliza softly. "Between friends—and lovers." She tilts her head to one side, her eyes gleaming.

 

"Do you think they could ever be the same thing?"

 

John doesn't have an answer for that one.

 

\---

 

"I look _good_ ," is the first thing that comes out of Alexander's mouth as he slides into the backseat of the taxi. Lafayette snorts. "Nice to see you too," he quips in return, but he looks Alexander up and down, and has to admit he's done pretty well. "So, what is the plan?"

 

"A plan?" Alexander repeats, and freezes. Lafayette gapes at him incredulously, before banging his head against the back of the front seat. "You—don't—have—a—plan?" He chokes out between gritted teeth. Alexander shrugs. "But you always have a plan! For everything!"

 

"I don't know!" Alexander protests. "I thought that showing up was going to be more than enough!" Lafayette sinks in his seat with a heavy sigh, massaging his head. Their phones buzz simultaneously.

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** THEY'RE HERE

 

Alexander bounces up and down in his seat impatiently, looking out of the window. "Excuse me, sir," he asks, addressing the taxi driver. "Do you think you could speed things up?" The driver in return grumbles something in another language, Alexander undoes his seatbelt and before Lafayette can even blink the two of them are arguing and cursing each other out in rapid-fire Spanish, until suddenly the driver laughs and shakes Alexander's hand, before stepping down on the gas pedal harder.

 

"Gracias," Alexander says to him breathlessly, before returning to his seat. Lafayette stares at him blankly. "What the hell was that?"

 

Alexander winks. "Puerto Rican magic, baby."

 

\---

 

Aaron's been politely conversing with the dean of Columbia when the people around him start applauding as the Schuyler family make their grand entrance, Philip and Catherine in the front, their children following closely behind them. He cranes his neck until he catches a glimpse of Eliza—and by her side, the mystery suitor, revealed at last. Aaron narrows his eyes.

 

"Those children are remarkable, aren't they?" The dean observes, as they watch the family disperse into the crowd to mingle. "Truly," Aaron agrees in a flat voice. "If you'll excuse me, sir, it was a pleasure talking to you, but I'd like to catch up with an old friend." He grabs a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing server and hurries after Angelica Schuyler.

 

"Angelica," he calls out, and the Schuyler sister turns on her heels and waits for him to come up to her. "That's a lovely dress on you." Angelica smirks and crosses her arms. "It's a jumpsuit," she replies, unfazed by the compliment. "Not a dress. What do you want, Aaron?"

 

"How about a dance?" Aaron Burr is not a dancer, as Angelica learned the hard way many winters ago when she first accepted the very same offer from him, which is how she knows he wants to talk about something serious.

 

"So," Aaron says as they step onto the dance floor, which is a combination of old couples slow dancing and younger folks bopping around, "I see your sister brought her new boyfriend." He carefully puts both hands on Angelica's waist, swaying out of time to the music.

 

Angelica, in turn, puts her arms around his neck, narrowing her eyes. "She did. Is this _really_ what you wanted to talk about?"

 

"What's his name?" Aaron pries, much to Angelica's disgruntlement. "John," she answers. "His name is John Laurens. Look, instead of interrogating _me_ , why don't you just go ask him yourself—?"

 

Aaron's mouth slowly opens in shock, the name sending a shiver throughout his entire body. His grip on Angelica's waist slackens, and she watches him with concern. John Laurens. He _knows_ that name. Yeah, he knows it all too well, because for the first few months of freshman year it was the only name that came out of Alexander Hamilton's mouth—

 

Oh God. This was going to be much worse than he expected.

 

"Aaron!" Angelica shouts in his face, snapping him out of his daze. She shakes his shoulders. "Are you okay?" There are people on the dance floor clearing space, and out of the corner of his eye Aaron spots Eliza and John approaching them with worried looks on their faces.

 

"I'm—I'm fine," Aaron wheezes, but he jumps at the touch of Eliza's hand on his shoulder. "It's so nice to see you Aaron," the younger Schuyler sister says sweetly. Just behind her shoulder, Aaron can see John's face pale as he recognizes Aaron, and he begins fiddling with his bowtie nervously. Angelica is looking between them suspiciously, so Aaron drops his gaze back to Eliza, trying to act as normal as possible.

 

"It's good to see you too," Aaron replies, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "You—You seem to be in higher spirits." Eliza beams, oblivious to the drama unfolding, and pulls John forwards so that he's right besides her. "I can thank him for that," she says, resting her head on John's shoulder. "Aaron, this is John."

 

"John Laurens," the young man says gruffly, and holds his hand out to shake. His hand almost crushes Aaron's. Aaron stares at him. "I—I—" He starts, and now both of the Schuyler sisters' eyes are practically burning holes into the back of his head as he struggles to keep calm. "Have we met before?" He blurts out at last, although he regrets it the moment it happens. "You—You just look so familiar."

 

John has already steeled himself for this kind of comment, so that he hardly reacts when Aaron blurts it out. "I don't think so," he responds coolly. "I have a good memory."

 

"John goes to school in London," Eliza interjects, protectively stepping in front of John. "But he's from South Carolina, so I find it hard that you two would run into each other before this."

 

Aaron swallows the lump in his throat, nodding. "Of course. I must be mistaken."

 

"Could you lovebirds excuse us for a moment?" Angelica asks, throwing one arm around Aaron's shoulder. "Aaron and I were talking about something important before you two came over here, and we'd like to finish our discussion—" Her eyes lock with Aaron's. "In private."

 

She drags him out towards the edges of the dance floor, where she closes her eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, before opening her eyes to face Aaron. "You know him, don't you?" She grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. "You don't want to lie to me, Aaron Burr."

 

"I—I—" Aaron laughs nervously. "Fuck. I do."

 

Angelica's eyes widen. "I _knew_ it! What's his deal? Is he a murderer? Is he just in it for the fame and fortune? Or worse—" She gasps out loud. "He's a conservative, isn't he? I should have seen that one coming."

 

"No, no, and I don't know," Aaron groans, hiding his face in his hands. "I don't know if I can tell you, Angelica—" She puts her hands on her hips, and he knows he's screwed. "He's—He was—He used to be..." He trails off into silence, staring over Angelica's shoulder with his mouth still hanging open. "Oh, shit."

 

"What are you 'Oh shit'-ing about," Angelica starts to complain, but as she turns around to follow Aaron's line of sight she too is struck speechless. " _No._ "

 

She turns back around, and jabs her finger into Aaron's chest. "I'm going to get security. Meanwhile, _you_ are going to try to keep _him_ from ruining this entire event." She smiles through clenched teeth. "I'm sure you have a lot of experience with that, anyways, being his old roommate and all."

 

\---

 

"We are getting a lot of looks," Lafayette observes, as he and Alexander stroll across the dance floor. Alexander runs a hand through his hair and scoffs. "Of course we're getting looks, man. Couple of good looking guys like us?"

 

"Well," Lafayette continues, wincing as they pass a group of sorority girls from school who are glaring at them. "I am not quite sure it is the positive attention that you are describing."

 

Before Alexander can come up with a rebuttal, their phones buzz again. "Jesus," Alexander hisses. "How many times is he going to do that?"

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** CODE RED ANGELICA SCHUYLER IS GRABBING SECURITY I REPEAT CODE RED BITCHES

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** COME TO THE KITCHEN I CAN HIDE YOU HERE

 

 **Lock Up Yo Daughters:** HURRY!!!

 

"Oh," Alexander says, staring bug-eyed at his phone screen. "We're fucked." Lafayette grabs his friend's arm. "Not if we get to that kitchen, we're not!" They begin pushing their way through the crowd, much to the other guests' objections, and Alexander looks around the room wildly for security when he locks eyes with Eliza instead.

 

"God, she's pretty," he mutters under his breath, still staring at her as Lafayette curses at him in French and pulls him along. His eyes flicker to the young man standing besides her, but his back is turned to him, so he's unable to see his face.

 

"Come _on,_ Alexander!" Lafayette cries, and Alexander tears his eyes away from Eliza's as they run out of the ballroom. Eliza gasps out loud, squeezing the stem of her wine glass. "What is it?" John asks, turning away from the conversation. "Eliza, are you okay?"

 

And he had looked so happy just then, engaged in a lively conversation with one of her father's family friends about baseball, that Eliza forces herself to smile bravely and reassure him that yes, everything was okay, allowing him to return to the conversation as she stood by his side, smiling with her mouth closed but her mind swimming with a million thoughts.

 

\---

 

"Here, try the shrimp canapé," Hercules offers, holding out a plate of the hors d'oeuvres to his two exhausted best friends, who are collapsed on the ground of the supply closet. Lafayette takes one. "I almost thought you guys got caught."

 

"I guess this spy thing turned out useful after all," Alexander says wearily, accepting the canapé Lafayette hands to him. "How am I going to get back out there now?"

 

Hercules brightens at the mention of being a spy, but Lafayette just groans. "I just want to be drunk," he whines, throwing one hand over his forehead dramatically. "The things I do for love!"

 

"Should I just go back out there?" Alexander wonders out loud, ignoring his friends. He gets up and begins pacing back and forth across the closet. "Will she even listen to me? Should I just go back home? Guys, what should I do—"

 

Hercules clears his throat. "Gentlemen," he begins, and holds up a bottle of expensive cognac. Lafayette gasps loudly in delight, clutching his heart. "What do you say about finishing this whole thing first, and then fucking shit up?"

 

"Liquid courage," Alexander snaps his fingers. "Hercules—Sorry, Jean Paul, that is genius! I don't know why I didn't think of that before!" Lafayette grabs the bottle out of Hercules' hands and takes a frighteningly long swig.

 

"You can call me Hercules again. Jean Paul—" Hercules lowers his voice. "Jean Paul has been terminated." He wipes an imaginary (or not) tear from the corner of his eye.

\---

 

"What do you mean they're _gone_?" Angelica exclaims, her face turning red. Aaron flinches. "I just pulled the head of security out here for nothing, then?" She closes her eyes and inhales and exhales slowly through her nose. "Okay. This is fine. Problem solved. I'm sorry sir, you can go now."

 

"Did someone say _problem_?" A familiar voice calls out, and Angelica and Aaron exchange a weary glance as Thomas Jefferson sidles up to them. "Angelica Schuyler, you're looking good," he purrs, and Angelica wrinkles her nose in disgust. "You're looking drunk," she shoots back. "I'm cutting you off after this drink."

 

Thomas holds his glass of wine protectively to his chest, glaring at Angelica. "So," he continues, turning his attention to Aaron. "What's this problem of yours? Does it have to do with, oh, I don't know; let me take a wild guess, Alexander Hamilton?"

 

"It may, it may not," Angelica snaps. "You get so annoying when you're drunk, do you know that? I want you to know that." Thomas looks wounded for a second, but his lips curl into a sneer. "I know what's going on," he says accusingly, looking between Angelica and Aaron. "And I am ready to kick back and watch shit hit the fan."

 

"Don't you have other people to bother?" Angelica asks. "Do you have friends?" Thomas laughs, undeterred by her rudeness. "I have plenty," he assures her. "And they're looking forward to see how this ends too."

 

"Can you cut the cryptic shit?" Aaron finally pipes up. Thomas rolls his eyes. "What, are you _defending_ Alexander Hamilton now? I always knew you were soft, Aaron, but I didn't think you've gone _that_ soft."

 

Before Aaron can roll up his sleeve and punch his drunken asshole of a friend in the face like he deserves, someone shrieks on the dance floor, stopping him. The crowd scatters as Hercules, Lafayette, and Alexander Hamilton stumble into the scene, and Aaron can hear Angelica gasp sharply behind him as Thomas cackles in glee.

 

"Eliza," Alexander cries out, his voice thick with alcohol. "I need to speak to you!"

 

Eliza and John are frozen where they stand, petrified at the sight of Alexander. Everyone's heads turn towards where they are, and Eliza squeezes John's hand so tightly he has to muffle his cry of pain. She looks up at him, uncertain.

 

"Go," John whispers gently. She holds her head high as she steps forwards, but her entire body trembles under the weight of the entire ballroom watching her as she finally reaches Alexander. Poor Eliza, she thinks to herself bitterly, recalling the two words that propelled her into this mess anyways. No, not anymore; Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

 

"Eliza," Alexander repeats, and his eyes are full of awe. "Can I just say that you are so beautiful it's actually painful?" Eliza doesn't react.

 

"And I just want you to know," he continues, tugging at the collar of his shirt nervously. "That I know I'm not worthy of you, or anyone really, for that matter, but when I'm with you—You—You make me want to be the best person I can be—" Eliza looks down at her feet and yawns. "Oh Christ, Eliza, come on, I love you. I really do. And you don't have to love me back right now but you better know that I'll love you for the rest of my life, okay? And I don't care who this guy is but—"

 

His voice falters, and when Eliza looks up to see what's wrong she sees him staring at something beyond her, and she knows he's finally recognized the mystery suitor.

 

"No—fucking—way," Alexander gasps, his face paling. He stumbles backwards, and Hercules and Lafayette catch him in their arms. He lifts his arm and points at John. "John, oh my God—"

 

Despite his legs feeling like they've become jelly, John forces himself to go stand next to Eliza in solidarity. "You—You—" Alexander continues to stammer, "You're—" Meanwhile, John's mind is racing to come up with a rational explanation, but his heart is pounding so loud that he can't concentrate. _Hi everyone, I'm Alexander's ex-boyfriend pretending to date his ex-girlfriend so we can make him jealous._ Yeah, no. There is no rational way to put this.

 

"You're—You're _fucking_ my girlfriend!?" Alexander spits out, and John barely has any time to react as Alexander lunges at John, flailing his limbs in his attempts to kick and punch. John instinctively raises his arm to defend himself, knocking Alexander down in the process. Eliza screams, her hands flying to her mouth.

 

"Oh shit," John gasps. "I didn't mean to do that, I'm so sorry—" Alexander groans loudly, cradling his head in his hands. "God _damn_ that hurt! You were always too strong for your own good." He laughs dryly. Someone gasps, scandalized.

 

Angelica grabs Aaron's shoulder. "Oh my God, were they—?" Aaron nods, and her jaw drops. "I need to get my parents out of here," she says, once she's composed herself. "Will you kill both of them for me?"

 

Aaron shrugs. "Not if they kill each other right now."

 

"Are you serious?" Alexander asks, his attention now turned to Eliza. "You planned all of this out just to get back at me?" Eliza hangs her head, ashamed. "That's so mean! I didn't know you were capable of being that mean!"

 

"Hey," John snaps, defending Eliza. "She wouldn't have done it if you just stayed loyal to her. This isn't her fault."

 

"No, no, you're right, it isn't." Alexander shakes his head. "It's yours. You're the one who fed her crazy revenge fantasy! Get _over_ it, John! It's been years! I'm sorry, okay? I really am—" His voice chokes up. "I've always felt bad about it, you know—I've always regretted doing it the way I did—"

 

"Stop!" Eliza cries out. John is unable to look at Alexander at this point. "Please, just stop, both of you," she pleads. "Before we all make fools of ourselves."

 

Someone in the crowd starts slow clapping. "I think it's too late for that, sweetheart," Thomas Jefferson says as he walks towards them, and Alexander scowls.

 

"Who is this asshole?" John mouths to Eliza, but her attention is fixed on Thomas.

 

"This is better than anything I could have ever dreamt of," Thomas continues, circling the three of them like a shark with its prey. "Who would have thought Eliza Schuyler's new beau was none other than her boyfriend's—boyfriend?" He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "Oh honey. I didn't know you had it in you."

 

"Excuse me?" Eliza frowns.

 

"You," Thomas says calmly, "Are a hussy."

 

The entire ballroom erupts into commotion, as Alexander leaps to his feet. "Say that again!" He growls at Thomas, who is looking down at him disdainfully. "It was a compliment, really," Thomas drawled. "The Christian act was getting kind of boring. I like this new Eliza." He winks. Eliza covers her mouth like she's about to vomit and looks away, disgusted.

 

"You heard him," John says. "Say it again, if you're brave enough." Thomas sighs dramatically. "You guys are so melodramatic," he mutters. "Fine. Here you go, since you asked so kindly—Eliza Schuyler is a huss—"

 

The next few seconds are a blur, but when the dust settles Thomas is lying face down on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, as Hercules frowns down at him, holding the empty and now broken bottle of cognac which he must have broken over Thomas' head. Eliza plants a kiss on his cheek.

 

"That," Lafayette proclaims, finally impressed, "Was very Bond of you." 

\---

The police chief stares blankly at Peggy, who pants like she's run out of breath after telling her story. "Is this true?" He asks at last, after a long pause. "This is really what happened tonight?"

 

"Do you think I can make this stuff up?" Peggy retorts. "Trust me, officer, I _wish_ my mind were that creative, but it's not. I got a C in creative writing because all of my stories were just personal anecdotes about my life but I made the main character a unicorn."

 

The chief sighs. "Alright. But what about the fire?"

 

Peggy blinks. "Fire? Oh! Fire. Yeah, oh yeah. Um, that was Jean Paul's fault. He was supposed to be watching the stoves in the kitchen."

 

The chief sinks in his seat, yawning. "Thank you for all your help, Miss Schuyler. You can go on home now." As Peggy rises from her seat, he holds up his hand to stop her. "One more thing—"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"You tell that sister of yours and those boys to get their shit together, alright?"

 

Peggy smirks. "I'll try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD, this took me a while. And it didn't even come out as long as I thought it was lmao I'm crying. But anyways, yes. It happened. What will happen next!? To be honest I'm not even really sure. Also: Who do you think was the star of the show? I'm stuck between Peggy and Hercules. These meddling kids are so dumb man. I love them all. I just want them all to be happy, don't you? Stay tuned to see if they get that happiness, or if I break them once more for the ~character development~ Love you, and thank you for all the support with this story!


	13. What Comes Next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally: what comes next, i.e. what happens right after shit hits the fan at the Schuyler Gala.

With the sprinklers going off and Thomas Jefferson being carted out on a stretcher despite numerous reassurances from paramedics that his injuries were minor at most, the Schuyler Gala goes down in flames—literally. Guests are practically trampling each other to get to the exits as they get soaked under the sprinklers, lamenting over their soiled outfits, but Alexander Hamilton is lost in a drunken stupor and barely reacts when Angelica pushes past him to grab Eliza.

 

He looks around, searching for his friends, but Hercules fled the scene as soon as the head chef came running out of the kitchen, screaming for Jean Paul's head, and Lafayette—Where is Lafayette? Oh, there he is, lying on the floor.

 

A security guard stops to ask Alexander if he's okay, but when he opens his mouth to answer he finally keels over. As he squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact, somebody catches him. "Don't worry," a familiar voice tells the security guard. "He's with me."

 

Alexander looks up into the face of George Washington, who looks relatively calm amidst the current chaos. "Hamilton," he says coolly, his face unreadable. "This is a surprise. Can you walk?"

 

Alexander nods, allowing George to help him to his feet. "George—I mean, Mr. Washington—"

 

"George is fine, Hamilton."

 

"Well, um, I think Lafayette might be in need of some assistance, sir."

 

George follows Alexander's finger, which is pointing at Lafayette, still collapsed on the ground, and sighs heavily. He walks over and slings the sleeping Frenchman over his shoulder as if he were a bag of flour and not a 150-pound man.

 

"I played football in undergrad," he explains to Alexander, whose jaw is hanging open in awe. "Captain, actually." He smiles at the memory, before shaking his head dismissively. "Shall we?"

 

\---

 

Angelica practically drags Eliza out of the ballroom, until they reach the curb of the street where Angelica whirls around, about to demand a lengthy explanation of the last 24 hours but her anger immediately subsides as Eliza sobs noisily, hiding her face in her hands.

 

"It's okay," Angelica soothes her sister, pulling Eliza into her arms. "It's okay, it's okay. I love you." Eliza cries even harder, burying her face in Angelica's chest.

 

"I'm sorry," Eliza weeps, "I lied. I'm so stupid."

 

"You are not stupid," Angelica scolds her. "Don't ever say that, because it's not true." She strokes her sister's hair, ignoring the curious onlookers around them and shooting death stares at the ones who were looking for too long. "Come on, let's move somewhere a little more private..." She didn't need their family to be the subject of yet another New York Post headline.

 

"I should have listened to you," Eliza sniffed, as she follows Angelica down to the corner of the next street, which is deserted. "I'm so sorry, Angelica." She slumps against the wall of the building behind them, like a wilting rose. "I just wanted to prove them wrong," she whispers after a while, and Angelica feels a pang in her chest.

 

"Eliza, you don't have to prove _anything_ ," Angelica tells her. "Nobody ever blamed _you_ for what he did. _He's_ the stupid one, it's _his_ fault—"

 

Eliza stomps her foot, startling Angelica. "That's the problem, Angelica! It's always about _him._ Don't you understand? I wasted four years of my life supporting him, building my life around him—" She pauses to catch her breath. "For what? To get cheated on and be pitied by my entire school? I'm tired, Angelica. I'm tired of being Alexander Hamilton's girlfriend, Philip Schuyler's daughter, _your_ sister—" She hesitates, worried that her words might have offended Angelica. "I wanted it to be about me," she sighs in defeat, "Just once."

 

Angelica stares at Eliza, shocked. This is so unlike Eliza that it almost seems like she broke character, if it weren't for how earnest—and angry—she sounds. "You know," she says at last, "I've always been jealous of you."

 

The first time Angelica felt envious of her younger sister was when they were kids, and their mother did their hair in the morning. She had to yank and tug relentlessly at Angelica's wiry locks until tears often sprung into her eyes, and Catherine Schuyler often bemoaned the tragedy of her first daughter's impossible hair. Then she turned to Eliza, whose hair was smooth and silky, and took delight in her second daughter's beauty, which was much easier to maintain. It was always small, trivial matters that triggered Angelica's jealousy, until Alexander came along. That's when it started to weigh on her heart.

 

"Why?" Eliza laughs coarsely, but her eyes light up with intrigue. "What is there to be jealous of? Everybody wishes they were you, Angelica."

 

 _And sometimes I wish I were you_. Angelica swallows dryly. How many times has she had to push away her jealousy, her regret deep down inside of her when she sees Eliza with Alexander? Too many times. And yet, in the end, Angelica knows that even if there was a chance to go back in time and change her mind, she'd still have done the same damn thing every time.

 

Boys are temporary. Sisters are forever.

 

"Let's go home," she offers gently, holding out her hand. Eliza throws her arms around her, and Angelica sighs in relief as they hug. "I'm sorry," Eliza whispers, and Angelica shushes her. "I love you."

 

"I love you too."

 

"My feet hurt," Eliza comments as they start walking down the street, and Angelica halts to a stop, kicking her shoes off. "Mine too. Fuck it," she mutters, and Eliza laughs, before following her example. "Shit! It's cold!"

 

The sisters shriek at the coolness of the pavement on their bare feet and take off running, hands still intertwined.

 

\---

 

Fifteen minutes ago, he was at a costly ballroom venue with New York's most elite; Fifteen minutes later, John Laurens is in a 24/7 pizzeria, sitting across from his old friend Hercules Mulligan, who is on his seventh slice of pizza. John can't stomach a single bite.

 

"I gotta admit," Hercules is saying as he chews, "I was not expecting that. When you walked out there next to Eliza I was capital S shook, man!"

 

John groans just thinking about it, and pushes away his paper plate, which still has an uneaten slice of cheese pizza on it. Hercules eyes it hungrily. "That went so much worse than I thought," he moans, rubbing his temple.

 

"Really?" Hercules takes John's pizza and chomps on it cheerfully. "It only went as bad as I expected it to." John raises an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe a little worse," Hercules admits.

 

"Be honest with me, Hercules. On a scale of one to ten, how bad did I fuck up?"

 

Hercules chews for a moment, thinking over John's question, before swallowing. "None," he says, much to John's surprise. "Maybe zero point five. I think you guys are just being petty, immature little hoes, and if you all sat down and talked like mature ass adults this whole thing never would have happened."

 

Coming from anyone else, this would have sounded condescending, but Hercules has always been sincere, and John blinks like he's just been enlightened. "If only," he scoffs regretfully, sinking into his seat. "I doubt that could happen now."

 

"You don't think so?" Hercules has moved onto mozzarella sticks now, and John takes one for himself because he's go to admit that mozzarella sticks _always_ look heavenly after a couple of drinks. "I think you guys had better figure out something. Alex can have Eliza on the weekdays, you can have her on the weekends—"

 

"Woah, woah, WOAH." The half eaten mozzarella stick falls out of John's mouth. "I thought you meant talking about the whole cheating fiasco—Not—Not _dating_ each other!" He sputters. "I can't—I haven't even thought of—"

 

Hercules leans forward in his seat, invested in the conversation at hand. "You like them, don't you? You still like Alex, even though he's a jackass—but a loveable one at that—and now you like Eliza, because, well, she's a goddess."

 

John can't deny that Hercules just read his mind, so he just sits there slack-jawed, while his friend chuckles to himself and finishes off the rest of their mozzarella sticks.

 

\---

 

"I like you," James Madison blurts out. It's 1 in the morning, his tuxedo is soaking wet, he's lost his inhaler, but he'll be damned if he doesn't say what he's been mustering the courage to say all night before they reach Dolley's house. The Uber driver whistles from behind the wheel, impressed.

 

Sitting across from him, Dolley is shivering under James' coat in a sequined mini-dress, but she freezes when he speaks, her eyes widening. "Oh," is all she says.

 

James feels himself sweating even though it's December, and their Uber driver is giving him a sympathetic look in the rearview mirror. "Is—Is Oh good?" He asks bravely, his voice quivering slightly. _Stupid, stupid,_ his mind snaps. _Of course she doesn't, stupid, she's Dolley and you're James, she's Dolley and you're James—_

Before he can say anything else and embarrass himself again, Dolley leans forward and presses her lips softly to his. Their driver writhes in his seat, unable to contain his excitement.

 

"What do you think?" Dolley asks once she pulls away. The car slows down in front of Dolley's house, and James helps his date out of the car like the gentleman he is. They stand facing each other awkwardly for a moment, until Dolley finally pipes up, "Well?"

 

"Well?" James echoes, confused.

 

"Are you coming in or not?"

 

The car drives away just then, not really giving James much of a choice, and Dolley laughs, prompting James to laugh as well. "I guess so," he says, and he follows her inside

 

\---

 

"I thought Jemmy was coming to pick me up," Thomas pouts, crossing his arms. He looks virtually unharmed, except for a single Band-Aid over his left eyebrow. Even if there were a bump on his skull where the bottle hit his head, no one would ever be able to see it under all of his hair.

 

"Jemmy had better things to do," Aaron replies flatly. "Did it really take the emergency room two hours to put one Band-Aid on you?"

 

Thomas scowls, visibly offended by Aaron's remark. "They had to check for signs of concussion, actually," he says, squaring his shoulders. "I'd love to see the look on that Mulligan's face if I hit him with a lawsuit." He winces. "My head hurts."

 

"That's probably more due to your impending hangover than what Mulligan did," Aaron responds dryly, watching Thomas walk down the hallway crookedly. "You deserved it, by the way."

 

"What did I do again?" Aaron groans and smacks his forehead with his palm.

 

"You called Elizabeth Schuyler a hussy," Aaron reminds him, and Thomas' eyes widen. "You were probably twenty drinks deep," he adds, as if that is any consolation.

 

"Probably," Thomas agrees, shaking his head. "God."

 

They continue walking in silence until they reach Aaron's car, when Thomas hesitates in front of the passenger door. "Do you think I'm an asshole?" Thomas asks, sounding insecure.

 

A good friend says "No, of course not!" But Aaron is better than a good friend—he's an honest one. "Thomas," he says wearily because it's almost 2 in the morning and he is in desperate need of a shower and a bottle of Tylenol, "We're all assholes. It's only what we do after we realize we've been assholes that matters."

 

"Hm," is all Thomas says, and they get in the car.

 

 

\---

**@nypost tweeted:** BREAKING NEWS: Annual Schuyler Gala SHUT DOWN after reports of a violent altercation between guests and kitchen fire. No comment yet from @SenSchuylerNY. Follow us to stay updated.

 

 **@nypost tweeted:** UPDATE: Gala brawlers identified as Alexander Hamilton, heiress Eliza Schuyler's ex-boyfriend and Thomas Jefferson, son of agricultural mogul Peter Jefferson.

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @nypost:**

Why is my name second?

 

 **@nypost tweeted:** UPDATE: John Laurens (@JhnLrns), son of congressman Henry Laurens has been identified as Eliza Schuyler's boyfriend. Click here for ten facts you didn't know about the South Carolina playboy.

 

 **@JhnLrns tweeted:** Please untag me @nypost

 

 **@JhnLrns tweeted:** OK HALF OF THESE AREN'T TRUE

RT: @nypost: UPDATE: John Laurens (@JhnLrns), son of congressman Henry Laurens has been identified as Eliza Schuyler's boyfriend. Click here for ten facts you didn't know about the South Carolina playboy.

 

**@AndPeggy**

**Replying to @JhnLrns:**

"His favorite animal is a turtle" LMAO

 

**@JhnLrns**

**Replying to @AndPeggy:**

Ok that one is true

 

 **@nypost tweeted:** UPDATE: Head chef speaks out on kitchen fire, accuses caterer known as Jean Paul of being responsible for the fire after reportedly claiming that Jean Paul was assigned to oven duty but abandoned his post. #YouHadOneJob

**@HunkulesM tweeted:** OMG am I famous now?

RT: @nypost: UPDATE: Head chef speaks out on kitchen fire, accuses caterer known as Jean Paul of being responsible for the fire after reportedly claiming that Jean Paul was assigned to oven duty but abandoned his post. #YouHadOneJob

 

**@GilbertduMotier**

**Replying to @HunkulesM:**

you idiot you've just given yourself away

 

 **@SenSchuylerNY tweeted:** My wife and I would like to offer our sincere condolences for tonight's events to our distinguished guests. A special thank you to the NYPD (@NYPDNews) for their help in evacuating everyone to safety. We will make sure that the perpetrators will be held responsible for their actions.

 

**@AndPeggy**

**Replying to @SenSchuylerNY:**

Go Daddy!

 

 **@nypost tweeted:** Tonight's hottest (and not-est) looks at the Schuyler Gala: Which one is your favorite? Click here to view.

 

**@AndPeggy**

**Replying to @nypost:**

so we just gon go from actual reportage to playing hot or not huh #fakenews

 

**@SchuylerAngelica**

**Replying to @nypost:**

Correction: I'm wearing a JUMPSUIT, not a dress. Why doesn't anybody know what a GODDAMN JUMPSUIT is?

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @nypost:**

My purple suit is an artistic expression. You peasants are an insult to fashion!

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @nypost:**

YOU GAVE THE TURTLE MAN A 10/10!? HE LITERALLY JUST WORE A PLAIN TUXEDO

 

**@AndPeggy**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

yeah but like did you see his butt tho

 

**@JhnLrns**

**Replying to @urfavevirginian:**

I have a name...

 

**@urfavevirginian**

**Replying to @JhnLrns:**

Yeah, it's Turtle Man now. Deal with it.

 

\---

The following morning, Eliza wakes up next to Angelica in her older sister's bed, remembering that both sisters, exhausted, collapsed onto the first soft surface they saw as soon as they got home. She gasps when something shifts at the foot of the bed, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room before she realizes it's Peggy, curled up in a ball and still wearing her dress from last night.

 

She slips out of the bed as quietly as she can so as not to disturb her sisters, and walks around the house, which feels cold and empty in the early hours of the morning. She passes her parents' bedroom and hears Philip Schuyler snoring loudly, and she smiles fondly and continues towards the stairs. Her head is throbbing slightly—the result of a few too many champagnes, no doubt—so she turns in the direction of the kitchen, but not before she halts in front of the guest room.

 

The bed is empty but John's belongings are still sprawled across the floor, and Eliza feels a pang of worry in her chest as she tries to remember where John could have gone when all hell broke loose. If she remembers correctly, she could swear that Hercules had grabbed him by the arm as he ran for the doors when that chef started screaming.

 

She also distinctly remembers looking at Alexander's panic-stricken face as Angelica pulled her away from him, and thinking to herself, "You really can't live without me, can you?" His face seemed to agree.

 

A rapping on the front door interrupts her thoughts, as Eliza jumps and pulls her robe around herself tighter. "Hello?" She calls out, but there's no answer, prompting her to march to the door and swing it wide open—directly into Thomas Jefferson's face. Eliza shrieks.

 

"Jesus!" Thomas yelps, staggering backwards and flailing his arms. In his right hand is an ornate bouquet of yellow roses, and his left hand is holding his nose, which is bleeding quite profusely. "I knocked out of courtesy," he continues, his voice nasally because of the nose holding. "I didn't _actually_ think anyone was going to be awake to open the door."

 

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry—" Eliza stops and examines the roses in his hand, finally noticing them. "Are those for _me?_ " She asks, with a slight smile on her lips.

 

"Huh? Oh." Thomas looks down at the flowers, then back up at her. "Uh, yeah, actually. They are."

 

Eliza bites down on her lip to keep herself from smiling too widely at her (ex?) boyfriend's biggest enemy. "Let me take a look at your nose," she says warmly, holding the door open for Thomas as he hesitantly follows her inside.

 

"So," Eliza begins as they sit down at her kitchen table, opening the First Aid kit. "I'm assuming the flowers are an apology for last night." She pries Thomas' hand off his nose, despite his protests, and stuffs a wad of gauze into his hand. "Hold this to it," she orders, and he complies obediently. "So, am I right?"

 

"You are," Thomas answers. He sighs. "I'm sorry that I called you a hussy."

 

"In front of my family," she adds, dabbing a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. "And all of my friends."

 

"In front of your family and all of your friends," Thomas repeats, wincing as Eliza dabs at his nose with the soaked cotton ball. "I was a real dick," he admits, and Eliza nods vigorously. "I'm sorry that I did that to you, I mean it. I don't have anything against you, just your idiot boy..." His voice trails off just before he mistakenly calls Alexander Hamilton her boyfriend. The status on that hasn't been clear as of late.

 

"Just Alexander," Eliza offers, saving them both from awkwardness. "Yeah," Thomas nods his head. "Him."

 

Eliza leans back in her seat and looks at Thomas for a long time. "You were right," she says eventually, crossing her arms. "I'm always right," Thomas retorts defensively, "Wait—What am I right about?"

 

"I used John to get back at Alexander," she confesses calmly. "Well, I guess we used each other to both get back at him."

 

"A mutual contract." Thomas whistles. "You guys _are_ evil. I like it."

 

Eliza frowns. "I don't think I'm evil," she objects, and Thomas actually laughs at the look of genuine concern on her face. "It was an exaggeration, Snow White," he assures her. "What's wrong with Snow White?" He asks when she looks at him strangely. "You look like the type of person that cutesy woodland creatures would love to follow around."

 

"I think we're done," Eliza says as she presses a Band-Aid across the bridge of Thomas' nose, but Thomas thinks she's talking more about the conversation.

 

"Eliza, you're like the nicest person at Columbia," Thomas tells her. "And it's annoying because it makes me feel like even more of an asshole than I already am, but that's not my point. My point is that people like you who are too nice get walked over all the time by dipshits like Hamilton, and if anyone needed to be an asshole, it wasn't him, or me—it was you."

 

"You're crazy."

 

"I'm serious!"

 

"Thank you for the flowers," Eliza says politely, rising from her seat, an obvious cue for Thomas to leave. "It's the least I could do," Thomas replies. "Look, I know you're not going to listen to me right now, but when you think about this later you're going to know I'm right."

 

"Sure, sure," Eliza waves her hand dismissively. "Goodbye, Mr. Jefferson."

 

Thomas stops in front of the doorway. "If I were him, I'd have never fucked with a Schuyler. Hamilton didn't know what he had until he lost it."

 

"Are those your own words?"

 

"Nah," Thomas smiles sheepishly. "They're my girlfriend's. But I agree with her."

 

"Smart man," Eliza calls after Thomas as he walks out the front door. She leaves the flowers on the kitchen table and bounds upstairs to rejoin her sisters in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I love the Schuyler Sisters. And George Washington, because he deserves more screen time in this story and I promise I will try to include him more SOON! And James and Dolley, because they are the pure shining light of hope in this shit show of a story lol. And Thomas Jefferson, who maybe does have a heart after all. Basically, I love everyone. I hope you do too.


	14. Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas. Things happen.

"Merry Christmas, bitches!" James Monroe's voice rings throughout the halls of Monticello, accompanied by the sound of his thudding footsteps dashing downstairs. Aaron rolls over in his bed and groans, reaching for his phone.

  **Burr:** I told you we shouldn't let undergrads live with us.

 

 **Tommy J:** Oh cut the kid some slack

 

 **Tommy J:** It's Christmas!

 

 **Burr:** Yeah, and every time James Monroe screams, an angel dies.

 

 **Tommy J:** Okay Ebenezer Scrooge. See you downstairs

 

Aaron sets his phone down and is ready to fall back asleep when he hears the doorbell ring. "If it's those stupid Christmas carolers again," he shouts. "Tell them it's 9 fucking AM and to go shove their holiday spirit up their—"

 

"Holy shit." Aaron can hear Monroe gasp, and he sits up in bed, his curiosity piqued. "Who is it?" Thomas calls out from his own bedroom. "Hello? Monroe?"

 

When Monroe doesn't answer, a slightly concerned Aaron finally hops out of bed. "This better be worth getting out of bed for," He grumbles as he goes downstairs, Thomas following closely behind him. "If this is one of your stupid pranks I'm going to throw your Christmas present in the tra— _What in God's name_."

 

Aaron comes to a complete halt, unfazed when Thomas finally catches up to the rest of them and runs into Aaron ungracefully. "Jeez Aaron! Don't just stand in the middle of the stairs you idi— _Oh._ "

 

"Is this actually happening?" Monroe asks aloud, still holding the door wide open. "Or am I just in a really weird dream right now?"

 

Alexander Hamilton clears his throat and scuffs his snow-stained sneakers on the welcome mat. "I'm afraid not," he answers. "Um... Merry Christmas?"

 

\---

 

"I, Alexander Hamilton's, List of Amends to Everyone I've Ever Inconvenienced in My Life," Aaron reads out loud from the wrinkled sheet of paper in his hand. He looks up from the paper at Alexander. "You're being dead serious right now?"

 

"You couldn't find a better day to do this?" Thomas adds, sitting at the farthest end of the couch from Alexander. "You are the _last_ person I want to see on Christmas morning... No offense," he adds. "None taken," Alexander replies. He looks smaller than usual in the lumpy woolly-knitted monstrosity he's wearing, and is playing absentmindedly with a loose thread on his sleeve. "I'll be on my way as soon as I get this over with." He takes a deep breath.

 

Aaron leans back in his seat, not sure what he's bracing himself for as he watches Alexander unsteadily rise to his feet and turn to face Thomas, who is looking up at him with complete and utter confusion before Alexander throws his arms around Thomas.

 

"Get OFF!" Thomas yelps, rolling off the couch with the Puerto Rican still attached to him in what looks like a very aggressive koala hug. "Get him off of me! This is ASSAULT! Somebody, do something! Call the cops! Aaron, call the cops! He's going to kill me! I knew it, I fucking knew it! Oh, God!"

 

"I'm not trying to kill you, dipshit," Alexander retorts breathlessly, "I'm trying to _hug_ you!" This revelation might have been in fact more alarming to Thomas, as he begins to struggle even harder against Alex's tight grip.

 

Monroe rushes into the room, his phone raised and recording the scene unfolded before him. "Do you think I can get this posted on WorldStar?" He asks Aaron, who is walking towards the kitchen for another needed cup of coffee. Aaron grunts in response.

 

Alexander glances at the watch on his wrist. "Okay," he mutters to himself, "That's probably long enough." He releases Thomas from his grip. "What in the hell is wrong with you?" Thomas gasps, kicking himself free from Alex's entanglement of limbs. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? You could have killed me!"

 

"Actually, you could have killed yourself," Alexander responds smoothly. "Given that you were the one thrashing around everywhere and expending all of your energy." He pulls a pencil out of his pocket and crosses Thomas' name out on his list and hums cheerfully. "Okay, looks like I'm done here."

 

Thomas pulls himself up onto the sofa, staring at Alexander in pure bewilderment. "You mean you just came to my house on Christmas morning for a fucking hug therapy session?"

 

Alexander winks. "You know that saying, Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?" Thomas throws a cushion at his head, scowling. "Get out of my house," he demands. "Be on your merry way, you little rat."

 

As Alexander passes Aaron in the kitchen, he pauses. "Wait, I have something for you, actually." Aaron blinks, surprised. "For me?" He repeats, and Alexander hands him a messily wrapped parcel procured from his backpack. "Oh—Oh wow, I mean, you really didn't have to get me anything..." Aaron finds himself ripping it open anyways, and can't help but laugh as he lifts up a WORLD'S BEST DAD mug in the air. "Jesus. I mean, thank you—"

 

But Alexander is already gone when he looks away from his gift. A folded post-it note falls out of the wrapping.

 

_Dear Aaron,_

_I know that we're not exactly the best of friends, but I wouldn't say we're the worst of enemies either so I decided to get you something for Christmas. (Don't flatter yourself; I got it from the dollar store.) I know we don't necessarily get along, but I still consider you my first friend at Columbia and I'm grateful for that. I hope that everything works out with you and your girl. Merry Christmas!_

_Yours truly,_

_A._ _Ham_

\---

 

~~Thomas Jefferson~~

 

~~Aaron Burr~~

 

Lafayette

 

Hercules Mulligan

 

Charles Lee

 

George Washington

 

Kitty Livingston

 

John Adams (Maybe)

 

Angelica

 

Eliza

 

John

 

\---

 

Alexander's next stop was a dingy little Chinese restaurant with a neon sign that read GOLDEN LOTUS CHINESE above the doorway. Inside, he knew he would find none other than Hercules and Lafayette, making the most of the all-you-can-eat Christmas buffet they offered every year. He wrinkles his nose at the pungent smell of grease and oil as he walks inside, scanning the room for his two best friends.

 

"Alex!" Lafayette exclaims when he walks up to their booth. Hercules, in shock, nearly knocks over the stack of empty plates piled nearby him. "Dude!" He scoots into the booth, offering Alexander the empty seat besides him. "Are you going to join us?"

 

Alexander waves off the plate of spare ribs that Lafayette offers him. "I'm just stopping by... I have a lot of things to do today."

 

"But today is Christmas!"

 

"I know." Alexander opens his backpack and pulls out a lumpy cylindrical-shaped package. "Merry Christmas, boys."

 

Hercules tears into the present like a spastic puppy while Lafayette looks on somewhat forlornly, left out of the process as Hercules pulls out a bottle of French cognac. Lafayette's jaw drops. "Th-that is a Delamain," he stammers, pointing at the bottle. "Alex, do you know how much that thing costs? In France, you can get that for 6,000 euros! This must have cost you your life's fortune!"

 

Alexander blinks in astonishment. "Really?" He whistles under his breath. "I mean, I didn't buy it... I nicked it from Franklin's office."

 

"You WHAT!?" Hercules shouts, standing up so abruptly that the entire table shakes. "You stole this from Professor Franklin?"

 

"Hey, can you not scream it to all of New York City?" Alexander swats Hercules. "But yes, I did. I mean, I doubt he's gonna notice, he's always overseas and he's like a hundred years old..."

 

Lafayette reaches across the table and clasps Alexander's hand. "Mon ami, merci beaucoup."

 

Alexander grins and lowers his head. "De rien."

 

\---

 

@A_Hamilton tweeted: @leedleleedlelee normally i would tell you to go suck a dick, but in the spirit of Christmas i hope that your day is tolerable

 

\---

~~Thomas Jefferson~~

 

~~Aaron Burr~~

 

~~Lafayette~~

 

~~Hercules Mulligan~~

 

~~Charles Lee~~

 

George Washington

 

Kitty Livingston

 

John Adams (Maybe)

 

Angelica

 

Eliza

 

John

 

\---

 

Alexander remembers Washington's address because it's where he woke up the morning after the Schuyler Gala. It was a modest brownstone in a slightly more respectable part of the city, but Washington could have easily been living in the Upper East Side with his father's inheritance. It was the fact that he didn't that was one of the reasons Alexander respected him so much.

 

He knew that Washington lived with his girlfriend, the elusive Martha Dandridge, who Alexander had never actually met, so he wasn't sure what to expect when he rang the doorbell and waited. In a few moments, he could hear footsteps approaching the door, which promptly swung open to reveal a statuesque and older—but drop-dead gorgeous—woman. She smiles warmly. "Hello."

 

"H-Hi." Alexander suddenly feels extremely self-conscious of his ratty sneakers and worn-out coat standing in front of a woman who seemed to be emanating light. "I, um, I was wondering if I could—May I speak to Mr. Washington, please?"

 

"Please," a voice behind Martha says. Washington steps forward. "Call me George. Come inside, Hamilton."

 

"Hamilton?" Alexander can hear Martha whisper quietly to her boyfriend. "Is this the one you always talk about?" They pass the dining room, which looks set for Christmas supper, and walk into the kitchen. "Would you like some hot chocolate?" Martha asks. Alexander looks at George, uncertain. "Sure," George answers. "That'd be great, honey." He turns his attention to Alexander, who is still staring at Martha in awe. "So."

 

"So," Alexander repeats, focusing on George. He squirms in his seat, uncomfortable. _Come on. You're not even on the hard part of the list yet._ He gulps. "I... Uh...." He focuses on the windowsill behind George, where a row of framed photographs of George and Martha smile at him. "Those are some nice photographs," he comments lamely.

 

George turns around and looks at the photographs, nodding. "Oh, thank you."

 

"Just throw in a couple of babies and you guys can be like an ethnically ambiguous Brady Bunch," Alexander jokes.

 

George opens his mouth, looking as if he is about to say something but then chokes on it. The sound of ceramic shattering on the ground pulls Alexander's attention to Martha, who is staring at the mess of hot chocolate and broken shards of ceramic strewn across the floor blankly. "F-Fuck!" She exclaims, and Alexander is taken aback by the vulgar expletive coming out of someone as elegant as Martha.

 

George rises from his seat almost immediately, coming to his girlfriend's aid. "Let me help you clean up," he says soothingly, gently pulling her away from the debris. Martha still looks as if she's in shell shock; her eyes still glued to the ground and Alexander wonders if he's said something to upset her. "Sorry to ask, Hamilton," George continues. "But do you think you could get the cleaning supplies for me? It's in our bathroom, last room on the left."

 

Alexander nods vigorously, desperate to escape the kitchen and the deep tension that seems to be swallowing the room. He enters the bathroom and looks around for the cleaning supplies, opening all of the cabinets he sees. Upon opening one of the cabinets a plastic bag falls out, hitting him in the face before landing on the ground. Alexander crouches to get a better look and gasps audibly. The plastic bag is full of pregnancy tests. Used pregnancy tests, all negative.

 

"Shit." Alexander gets back to his feet with some difficulty, due to his wobbling knees, stuffing the bag back into the cabinet. "Shit, shit!" Of course, he didn't know. He couldn't have. But the sight of Martha's blank stare was going to haunt him for ages now that he understood.

 

He finds the cleaning supplies and hurries back to the kitchen, but George is wiping the floor clean with a damp paper towel. "Ah, thank you," he says as Alexander joins in with a sponge. "Sorry about that. Now, what was it that you came all the way here to tell me?"

 

"Oh, uh," Alexander clears his throat nervously. "I just... I wanted to apologize."

 

George raises his eyebrows. "Apologize?"

 

"Well, I know I haven't been the most pleasant student," Alexander rambles. "And I've been really disrespectful to you at times, but the truth is Geo—Mr. Washington, I respect you more than any other teacher I've had at Columbia. So thank you. And Merry Christmas."

 

George has stopped scrubbing the floor. "Oh. Thank... Thank you."

 

"I better get going now," Alexander adds, glancing at his watch. "I'm on a pretty busy schedule."

 

"On Christmas?" Martha re-enters the kitchen, looking at Alexander with confusion. "But it's Christmas... What about your family?"

 

Alexander tries not to wince visibly, putting on a brave smile. "It's just me now."

 

He hates what always happens next. The sympathetic smile, the look of pity, the "Oh, I'm so sorry!" that he has to awkwardly forgive them for, reminding him that he was never suited for a simple life of happiness.

 

But Martha just keeps staring at him, lost in thought. "Come back," she says. "Tonight, or whenever you're finished. I've cooked enough for 3 people."

 

"Really?"

 

"You're more than welcome to," George adds, beaming at Martha.

 

"Please," Martha says, her eyes locking with Alexander's. "Please."

 

He nods.

 

\---

 

~~Thomas Jefferson~~

 

~~Aaron Burr~~

 

~~Lafayette~~

 

~~Hercules Mulligan~~

 

~~Charles Lee~~

 

~~George Washington~~

 

Kitty Livingston

 

John Adams (Maybe)

 

Angelica

 

Eliza

 

John

 

 

\---

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** hey Kitty

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** i hope you're enjoying your holidays

 

 **Bastard Orphan:**...and i'm sorry for ghosting you sophomore year

 

 **Kit Kat:** Alex?

 

 **Bastard Orphan:** yea?

 

 **Kit Kat:** Suck my dick

 

\---

 

~~Thomas Jefferson~~

 

~~Aaron Burr~~

 

~~Lafayette~~

 

~~Hercules Mulligan~~

 

~~Charles Lee~~

 

~~George Washington~~

 

~~Kitty Livingston~~

 

~~John Adams (Maybe) Nope fuck that~~

 

Angelica

 

Eliza

 

John

 

 

\---

 

The Schuyler mansion looks intimidatingly colossal as Alexander meekly walks up the driveway, wringing his hands. The security guard had miraculously let him through, obviously recognizing Alexander from when he used to visit frequently, although he did not speak to him like he usually did. The Schuyler home, which used to seem so warm and inviting, now felt frigidly hostile. Alexander was unsure if he was talking towards redemption or his death.

 

He rings the doorbell and braces himself for imminent death, which become somewhat anticlimactic when the door opens to reveal the housekeeper. "Hello ma'am," Alexander begins. "Happy holidays!" She stares at him, uninterested. "I was wondering if I could speak to Miss Schuyler, perhaps?"

 

"Which one?"

 

"Oh." Alexander freezes momentarily, when he catches some movement out of the corner of his eye and spots Peggy peeking through the window curtains, looking directly at him and very alarmed. As soon as their eyes meet she runs away from the window. "Shit," Alexander mutters under his breath. "Uh... Angelica Schuyler? If she's available?"

 

"Oh, I'm available all right," says Angelica, stepping into Alexander's view. She's obviously dressed for Christmas dinner, and her heels sink into the snow as she follows Alexander backtracking rapidly into the center of the driveway. In her hands is an antique rifle.

 

"Jesus!" Alexander cries out upon this realization, and falls over backwards into the snow. "Is that thing _real_?" Surely, Angelica Schuyler was not going to shoot him.

 

Angelica turns the rifle over in her hands, looking at it as she speaks. "Sure is. It belonged to my daddy's great-great-great-great granddaddy in the war for independence." Oh shit. Maybe she was going to shoot him. He could already see the headlines: _Cheating Ex-Boyfriend Shot Dead by Girlfriend's Sister on Christmas Day_. "You wanna talk, huh? Let's talk, Hamilton."

 

"A-Are you going to shoot me?" Alexander squeaks. Angelica narrows her eyes.

 

"Do you think I know how to shoot a gun, let alone a gun from hundreds of years ago that probably doesn't even work anymore? Do you have any idea of how many times I've lobbied against the NRA?" She throws her head back and laughs. "No, I'm not going to shoot you. But the look on your face was priceless, and so was that thirteen year old boy voice crack just now."

 

Alexander relaxes slightly, still sprawled across the snow-dusted ground and looking up at Angelica like she was the angel of death, which was a pretty apt nickname. If he survived this, he could survive anything.

 

"Angelica..." Alexander begins, his voice still slightly cracked. "Before you tear me to shreds, at least hear me out. I know I fucked up—"

 

"Fucked up?" Angelica's voice rises. "What you did was _beyond_ fucked up. First of all, you almost got my parents arrested and you humiliated my little sister in front of almost everyone we know, and now you have the audacity to show up at our house on Christmas day? You're tarnishing the Schuyler name every single time you do something like this, do you understand?"

 

"I'm just trying to make amends," Alexander protests. "And I wanted to personally apologize to you before I talk to... well, if she even lets me."

 

"Me?" Angelica's eyes widen. "What do you have to apologize to me for?"

 

"Because I know how much you care about Eliza, and I know that this whole ordeal has hurt you as much as it's hurt her." Alexander sighs. "And I know that we both know I'm not—I'll probably never be good enough for her, but with that said, I love her. I really do, even if I don't seem to show it in the best of ways, and I'm not always resistant to temptation—"

 

Angelica groans and covers her ears, trying to drown him out before he turned into Shakespeare. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're—You're forgiven."

 

"Really?"

 

"Look, I understand I have a habit of getting involved in you and my sister's affairs probably more than a normal person, but this is something that I think is between you and Eliza—" She hesitated. "And that other guy."

 

"Will she talk to me?"

 

Angelica snorted. "Good question. I went outside before I could see her reaction." She looked back at the house curiously. "Um... You wanna find out?"

 

\---

 

"No," Eliza says firmly. "No way."

 

Peggy paces back and forth across Eliza's bedroom. "I don't think 'No' is an option here."

 

Eliza peeks outside the window. "Where did they go?" A knock on the door disturbs the two sisters, and Eliza throws herself behind the bed, panicked. "Peggy," she orders through clenched teeth. "Do. Not. Open. That. Door."

 

"Open the door!" Angelica demands. "It's time to be an adult, Eliza!"

 

"An _adult_?" Eliza repeats mockingly, standing up. "In case you haven't noticed, I've been acting like an adult for most of this humiliating situation, and the only person behaving like a child is that arrogant, egocentric, delusional—"

 

Peggy wordlessly opens the door, and Angelica grabs Eliza by one of her arms. "What happened to the Sister Code? This is an outright betrayal of our sisterhood—" Eliza tries to free herself from Angelica's grip but to no avail as the three of them walk downstairs. Angelica eventually lets go and pushes Eliza towards the drawing room.

 

"I had to let him inside," she explains as Eliza shoots her a dirty look. "What? It's cold, Eliza! I can't just let him freeze."

 

"Whatever," Eliza mutters, shoving the doors open. "I'm going to kill you for this later," she calls over her shoulder, still irritated. Then she walks inside.

 

"Eliza." Alexander gets to his feet. "Before you say anything—"

 

"Please stop."

 

Alexander shuts his mouth. Eliza crosses her arms. "I feel like I'm having deja vu. How many times have you shown up uninvited trying to explain yourself?" Alexander looks at the ground, unresponsive.

 

"Yeah," Eliza hums thoughtfully. "That's what I thought. You embarrassed me in front of my entire family, Alexander."

 

"Yeah, because you were dating John Laurens!" Alexander finally snaps back, agitated. "How do you think I feel about that?" Eliza bites her bottom lip anxiously, a nervous habit of hers that Alexander immediately recognizes when he knows she feels guilty or apprehensive about something. "I know I never should have lied to you, Eliza," he adds in a gentler tone of voice. "I know that and I'm sorry."

 

"But?"

 

"But what?"

 

Eliza looks at him suspiciously. "There's always a 'but' with you."

 

"No," Alexander replies. "Not this time. Not ever, not anymore, if you consider giving me another chance." He inches forwards slowly, and Eliza stands still, almost expectantly as he approaches her.

 

He still has snow in his hair, she notices, and looks remarkably miserable in his ratty winter coat, soaking wet from his tumble earlier. She is dismayed that the sight of him manages to grab her heartstrings. She still loves him, she realizes. It takes all of her willpower not to bolt out of the room. Eventually he is standing only inches away from her, and Eliza takes a deep breath before looking into his eyes.

 

"Do you..." Alexander begins quietly.

 

"Yes?" Eliza whispers, eagerly waiting for some kind of confession or declaration of love for her, and only her.

 

"Do you remember when we did it in here?"

 

Eliza cries out in disgust and slaps him. "You came all the way to my house, on Christmas Day, to talk to me about having _sex_?" She yells, not caring at all if her entire family could hear her, which she was sure they were. Still, she glances at the coffee table and indiscreet memories returned to her mind. "Alexander Hamilton, you are the most vulgar, insensitive—"

 

"I know I am," Alexander says, and cuts her off with a kiss. Once again, Eliza seems to be lost in the kiss initially, but suddenly pushes him off of her. "Alex, I—I can't," she says. "I'm sorry."

 

"Eliza, I love you!" Alexander proclaims, somewhat desperately. "You've got to believe me when I say I do."

 

"I know you do!" Eliza looks at him with a pained expression. "But Alex—"

 

"I don't understand—"

 

"Alex—"

 

"Do you love me?"

 

"I do!"

 

"Then why—"

 

The door opens, and Alexander and Eliza both turn their heads at the sound. John Laurens stands in the doorframe. "Sorry to interrupt," he says meekly. "But everyone else was starting to get worried with all the yelling—"

 

Alexander begins walking out of the room. "Alex," Eliza pleads, following him. "Alex, just listen to me for two seconds! He had nowhere else to go, I'm the one who invited him here, we couldn't just kick him out—"

 

"Five Christmases!" Alexander shouts suddenly, turning around to stare down at Eliza, whose eyes were beginning to water. "Five Christmases, Eliza."

 

"Alex—"

 

"Five Christmases since I've met you, and I've never spent a single one of those Christmas days with you," he says coldly. "You always said it was a day for family."

 

"I didn't know what else to do," Eliza explains, teary-eyed.

 

"Your parents invited him, didn't they? You don't do anything without your parents' permission. This was obviously their work." When Eliza looks at the ground, Alexander looks to John for an answer. John simply stammers, "I—I didn't know."

 

"Five Christmases," Alexander spits. "I wasn't good enough for you noble Schuyler stock but a senator's son who you've known for, what, several weeks is spending Christmas fucking Day with you?"

 

Eliza seems to grow smaller upon listening to his outburst, and John stands in front of her protectively. Alexander's heart is close to snapping in half at the sight. "Forget it," he says weakly. "Forget I was here."

 

"Alex—" John starts.

 

"You guys look good together," Alexander interrupts him. "But I'm sure Eliza's parents already told you that."

 

He slams the door behind him. By the time he reaches Washington's apartment, it's dark outside. He has somehow stayed composed up until then, when he sees Martha and George watching him with looks of concern, and realizes there are tears spilling down his cheeks at an incontrollable rate. It is Martha who reacts first, pulling him wordlessly into her arms and holding him against her chest, rubbing his back as he continues to cry like he's never cried before. He doesn't think he's cried this hard since his mother died.

 

"Don't cry, baby," Martha consoles him. "Don't cry. It's still Christmas."

\---

~~Thomas Jefferson~~

 

~~Aaron Burr~~

 

~~Lafayette~~

 

~~Hercules Mulligan~~

 

~~Charles Lee~~

 

~~George Washington~~

 

~~Kitty Livingston~~

 

~~John Adams (Maybe) Nope fuck that~~

~~Angelica~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're BACK! This chapter took me AGES to write, mostly because of life but also I really didn't know where I was going to go with this but as usual, drama, drama, drama. If you can't tell already, I live for drama and things going horribly wrong. I finally wanted to make you guys feel bad for Alex and remember that he's still a good person so yeah I guess that was the purpose of this chapter.


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